The Curse of the White Sword
by Jocelyn
Summary: Will and Elizabeth's wedding plans are thrown off by a new curse on the Caribbean. Jack Sparrow and the the Black Pearl run into old friends, famous pirates, a mysterious sword, and battle the sea itself! Just in time for the movie come out: COMPLETE!
1. Prologue: Twice Lucky

**_Author's Note:  _**_Welcome, dear readers, to my first foray into the realm of swashbuckling sailors!  Yes, I'm aware that I still owe updates to fans of my Lord of the Rings Stories, but please be patient, they're on their way.  Unfortunately, this fic came to life as a ravening plot bunny that grabbed me in its teeth and dragged me away until I started writing.  I hope you'll like it!_

**_One other thing:_**_  Please be advised that I start law school exactly two weeks from now.  (Dun dun DUN!)  So my updates may be erratic for the next, oh, nine months, but I shall do my best to keep them coming.  Please be patient and understanding, and feel free to send reviews to remind me!_

**_Revision Notes:_**_  Yep, revising already.  You have Joe Good to thank for this unexpected addition.  On his advice, I did a little more research into the history of Port Royal, and some of the stuff I found is just too good to waste.  So while I hinted to some readers previously that the date when this fic takes place is important, now you're going to find out why.  With any luck, this'll keep people interested until the end!_

**Prologue:  Twice Lucky**

_Kingston Harbor, Jamaica, 1992…_

Dr. Alexander Cade was not a patient man, at least not by archeological standards.  Then again, the limits of even the most cool-headed archeologist would be tested by the project Cade was currently working on.  The climax of a historical dig was fraught with enough stress when one had to worry about weather conditions and interference from the curious and/or hostile local populace.  But when you factored in currents, tides, and the activity of the fish populace—it was enough to make any man crazy.

"Get that goddamned yacht out of there!" Cade roared as yet another unauthorized boat tried to zip in for a closer look.  "We're trying to get divers to the site!"

The pleasure boat was run off (with the tourists on board complaining loudly that they'd paid their tour fees and should have free access), and Cade's graduate assistant looked at her watch.  "If we don't get them in the water in the next ten minutes, we'll miss our window.  Tide starts back in at 11:43."

Despite himself, Cade shivered.  "Seems like a bad omen."

"Or a good one," she countered.

"Okay, we're clear.  Tell 'em to go, Fran.  I'll be on the monitors."

Frances raised her radio.  "All right, boys, in the water!"

Out on the harbor, two scuba gear-clad archeologists dove off their boat, the _Donny Hamilton_, to the site of the only authentic sunken city in the Western Hemisphere.  On shore, at the site headquarters, Cade sat in front of the video screens to view the images relayed by the divers' handheld cameras.  For over ten years, the Institute of Nautical Archeology at Texas A & M University had been sending its best alumni and students to a town Mother Nature had frozen in time.  Today, Cade's divers were going deeper than ever before, taking careful calculation of just how far they could get during what they had calculated would be the lowest tide of their entire scheduled visit.  In fact, it was the lowest tide that had been forecast for the area since excavation began.  The earthquake that had destroyed one of the largest cities in the Caribbean had slid great chunks of it nearly completely intact to the bottom of Kingston Harbor—a treasure trove just waiting to be examined three hundred years later.  

Cade resisted the urge to chew on his fingernails as the divers made their descent through the foggy water, past streaming fronds of seaweed and disinterested schools of fish.  One would think that a project like this would have no shortage of eager investors, given that they were excavating a city that had rivaled Boston for importance in colonial days.  But after a dozen years of diving and digging had revealed dearth of gold or precious stones, most of the popular interest had died down.  On one hand, this was a good thing, because it allowed the academics to get their work done without the clamor to throw the site open to the destructive hands of treasure hunters.  On the other hand…the budget was set, and it wasn't likely to get any bigger.

A change in the watery images on the screen caught his eye.  "Hurry it up, Fran," he said to his radio.  "They're into the red light district."

"The red light district took up over half of the city!" came her reply.

He grinned.  "The 'richest and wickedest city in the world.'  Welcome to Port Royal, me hearties."

His assistant came pelting into the little building and fell into a chair.  "Ooh!  Look!  That's the gentlemen's club.  We've never gotten so close before!"

"One of Hamilton's subs got inside two years ago," said Cade.  Into the special radio that let him communicate with the divers, he ordered, "Keep going, guys.  Let's get some nooks and crannies today."

There was a flash of a thumb in one monitor, and the progress continued down a perfectly-formed underwater street.  "What's that, some kind of market?" Fran asked, pointing to the remains of a more open building.

"What street are we on," Cade muttered, checking their carefully-compiled map.  "It's the fish market."

Fran wrinkled her nose.  "Smells even from here.  Can you imagine?"

"Couldn't have been any worse than medieval meat markets."

"It was a lot hotter in the Caribbean.  I'll bet it was a lot worse.  God, Alex, this street must've stayed entirely in one piece the whole way down."

"Mikey, get close to that wall, if you can.  Let's see what it is."  

The diver obliged, and they inched delicately toward what had been a small business with one wall still standing.  Mike slipped around it, and Fran twirled her dark brown ponytail.  "Too decayed.  Damn.  But I'm guessing a tailor.  That might be what's left of a model."

"Joe, try the place across the street."

The other monitor pile of rubble, with some likely items visible beneath the half-collapsed walls, then the diver signaled that he wanted to go through.  "Careful," Fran cautioned.  She glanced at her watch.  "We've got less than five minutes before they have to head back up."

Joe had inched his way through the door, and his camera and headlight revealed shelves and pails, lined with debris.  The diver reached out and delicately picked up an object that looked like an ordinary rock at first glance.  Then he brushed it off, and revealed a smooth, metal cylinder.  "Christ!" laughed Cade.  "What do you say, split peas?"

"Nah, anchovies.  Definitely a general store," agreed Fran.  "Three minutes left, guys, make it count!"

Mike was heading down the street again, investigating the remains of a larger building with big doors that had rotted off at the hinges.  Playing his light across the wreckage, the diver displayed a large stone and metal stove.  Or not a stove, but rather… "A forge," said Cade, grinning.  "It's one of the smithies."

"Biggest one we've found so far," said Fran appreciatively.  "We've never gone this deep.  Just a bit further down the street, Mike, and then we'll call it a day."

"We'd have had another twenty minutes if those assholes hadn't ignored the buoys," grumbled Cade.

"Got some good shots though," Fran said.  "It happens.  And anyway, we…Alex?"

Cade was leaning forward, gaping at Mike's monitor.  "Mike, stop!"

"What?" Fran exclaimed, sitting up straighter.  "We've got ninety seconds!"

Something was shining in the far left lower corner of Mike's screen.  "Mike, backtrack just a few feet and aim at seven o'clock!"  The diver did so.  "Jesus H. Christ, what is that?"

"Something made of a non-tarnishing metal, that's for sure," breathed Fran, seeing the object half-buried in the mud of the street.  Her watch beeped.  "_Shit!_  Forty-five seconds!"

"Oh, nonono, that's not fair!" Cade cried, grabbing the sides of his head.

"Zoom in, Mike!  Get as close as you can in the next thirty seconds!" Fran's voice had risen about an octave.  "Good God, what is that?"

"Any chance he can grab it?" Cade demanded, already knowing the answer.  

"Damn!  No chance, Alex.  We have to keep our safety window.  Turn around, guys, it's journey's end."

Dr. Cade cursed furiously for the entire time it took the divers to return to the surface.  Fran patted his shoulder.  "We got a good close-up of it.  Let's run the tapes at the museum and see if we can't figure out what it is."

***

Two hours later, the team was drinking coffee in the staff section of the historical museum that now stood on the part of Port Royal that remained above water.  "We saw the shots, but did you get a good look?" Fran was asking Mike as the tape replayed.

"Yeah," said Mike, sounding dejected.

Cade looked over his shoulder at the other man.  "And?  Did you figure out what it was?"

"Wait.  Look closer.  You'll be even more pissed when you realize.  We've got to figure out some way to get back down there with a pair of hands."  Mike gestured to the screen as the video crept down the street, past the smithy, and honed in on the white object glistening softly in the mud.  "Can you see?"

Fiddling with his glasses, Cade squinted with all his might.  "Obviously something expensive.  It looks like…pearl!"

"Gold wouldn't tarnish, but it's too pale," murmured Fran, her nose almost touching the screen.  "Could be a piece of something larger.  Handle of a knife, maybe?" She looked questioningly at Mike.  "We give up, man.  Spill it."

Cade glanced at the diver, and thought he detected that "Tut's tomb" look.  Mike shook his head.  "It's a scabbard."

***

Cade wandered through the museum, trying to figure out how best to get back to where they'd been.  _"That area is way too narrow for any submersibles the Institute has or can afford.  Even Robert Ballard would have a hard time maneuvering down that street,"_ Fran had groaned in despair.  _"And we don't have a big enough dive window with any of the coming tides.  We were at our limit with this one!"_

_Damn, damn, damn!_  As much as archeologists knew that finding anything of real monetary value in a dig was a double-edged sword, the youthful Indiana Jones wanna-be buried in each of them couldn't help dreaming of finding buried treasure.  Port Royal had seemed like such a likely spot to the first divers in the '80's, but when nothing had turned up, Caribbean Atlantis had been given back to people who still found it interesting as just a perfectly-preserved colonial town.  But this…_we were lucky twice today, getting an extra-low tide and finding a scabbard covered in pearl.  Who's to say good luck won't come in threes? _

Walking around in the museum was one of Alexander Cade's favorite ways to relax and think.  Surrounded by Port Royal's scandalous and colorful history, or what they had already unearthed, anyway, it was a way he could be there without the stress of the actual dig.  Kind of like re-reading a favorite book over and over again.  Speaking of favorite chapters, he stopped in front of his favorite artifact.  It was a pocket watch, made in 1686, when the queen city of the Caribbean must have been at her peak.  It was amazing that the thing had survived, considering how many years it had been before waterproof watches came about.  But somehow, this one had, and in its frozen hands was marked the exact time of the earthquake that had shattered Port Royal, the richest and wickedest city in the world, when nearly two thirds of its homes, taverns, and streets were swallowed up by the Caribbean:

_11:43 a.m., June 7, 1692._

*****

_Port Royal:_  _mid-March, 1692_

Smoke belched from the chimney of the smithy as though the devil himself had set up shop within.  In the street without, the merry chatter of merchants and shopkeepers with their customers did little to silence the great clanging of hammer to anvil and the harsh hissing of the quenching barrels.  The entire setup would have been rather a deterrent to visitors, were it not for the fact that today, not keeping with the traditions of metalworkers, the shop's doors were wide open, revealing the normally-dark smithy to the world without, and displaying to passers-by that the one responsible for the foreboding racket was a surprisingly young and unassuming man barely out of his apprenticeship.

William Turner, having only recently gained his mastery in the metalworkers' crafts, was accustomed to intense heat and darkness, but on this day, he had made an exception.  It was only March, but already the burning Caribbean sun was beating down upon Port Royal with a zeal unusual even for this hot climate, and he had found it impossible to work with the doors closed and the forge lit without sweat blinding his eyes.  Even now, with the doors wide open to let in every draft of cooling sea breeze, the smith's quenching barrels were being used to quench the heat of said smith's head as often as the swords he was making.

Thrusting yet another finished blade into a barrel to cool the hot metal down, Will fumbled for a cloth to dry his sweaty face and brushed his soaked hair back on his head.  Since the death of Mr. Brown from pneumonia (undoubtedly brought on by his drinking) Will had been thrust into the position of the best-reputed blacksmith in Port Royal--as well as the _only_ reputable swordsmith in the entire island of Jamaica.

On one hand, this had led to more commissions than ever before, and even the most condescending gentleman in the town could scarcely deny that the humbly-born Will Turner was making quite a…respectable living for himself.  

On the other hand…if being accepted among the ranks of the gentry required idle hands, Will was most definitely still a confirmed member of the working class.  In fact, the trouble with this newfound wealth was that Will found himself working harder and longer than ever before.  His body throbbed with a heat that had nothing to do with the proximity of the forge, and his ears rang perpetually with the clanging of the hammers.

In short, mastery of his craft had left young William Turner respected, increasingly well-off, sought after--and thoroughly exhausted.

Glancing back down at the sword he had just finished, Will noticed that the water in the barrel had stopped boiling, and pulled it out, checking to make certain that the blade had sealed itself properly into the ornate gold filigreed handle.  He tested the balance…perfect.  Again.  

Normally, Will would have felt a surge of pride at completing yet another flawless weapon, but today, he merely felt tired and frustrated.  Yes, another sword finished…how many more to go?  Would it ever end?  How could one feel the care and devotion for one's craft when one could barely spare a half-second to stand back and admire it?  There was always another sword to be rushed to completion, another dagger hilt to be repaired, more locks to be built, more door handles to be made, more windows to be barred, more horses to be shod…by God, would he ever get the chance to breathe?!

Fighting a groan of frustration, Will rubbed the back of his neck.  It ached as always, as did his back from too many hours spent leaning over anvil and forge and not enough rest to make up for it.  He knew he should get back to work; there were still many orders to be filled.  Where to start next…his eyes wandered over the half-finished sword handles awaiting blades, the bars that would form the gate of iron fence for Commodore Norrington's new house, the door handles waiting to be cast in brass…

Heaving a heavy sigh, Will Turner stood facing the great mountain of weapons, tools, and ornaments just waiting for the craftsman's hand…and felt utterly and completely helpless.

***

Fanning herself vigorously in the noonday sun, Miss Elizabeth Swann stepped cautiously through the bustling market street around haggling merchants and their chattering wives, blinking in the sunlight at the column of dark smoke that marked her destination.  It wasn't as if they were unaccustomed to seeing her in this part of town anymore, but the merchant folk still acted startled at the sight of her smooth skin, finely-made hats, and silk skirts in these streets women lived and worked their lives away in rough linen and muslin, with equally-roughened hands.  It sometimes made her feel uneasy.

Not today, however.  However startling and uncustomary it was for the daughter of a thriving colony's governor to be engaged to a humble smith--even one as respected and successful as William Turner--the townspeople had evidently decided that such a match reflected well upon both Elizabeth and Will.  Will, as a sign of his great skill and worth as a man that could overcome his humble upbringing, and Elizabeth, that a fine lady such as her would be willing to overlook his common blood.  (Even though, rumor had it, William Turner had not merely common blood but _pirate_ blood!  Scandalous indeed!)

"G'day, miss!"

"Afternoon, Miss Swann!"

"Awfully hot out today for you to be traipsing about town, Miss Swann!"

Greetings rang out from the townfolk as Elizabeth passed, knowing full well where she was headed with her basket slung on one arm and a faint smile of anticipation upon her face.  Will Turner had been formally courting Elizabeth Swann for nearly two years, and had proposed six months ago, but it was well-known in town that he and the governor's daughter were not to marry until Will had amassed enough money to support her in the "proper style" befitting a gentlewoman.  

Elizabeth, for her part, would have been perfectly happy to do without a few of the conveniences of the English gentry (particularly corsets) if it had meant marrying Will sooner, but she did not begrudge Will his pride, and so resigned herself to wait.  Will's main obsession in the mean time was saving the necessary funds to build them a house, and that she did not mind at all.  Not that Elizabeth had ever been unhappy in the governor's mansion with her father, but once Will had tentatively broached the subject, the thought of living in a home of her own--_her_ home, not her father's--had lit a fire of longing within Elizabeth equal to Will's, and so they bore the waiting with full hearts in anticipation of great things to come.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Tapling," said Elizabeth cheerfully, pausing to greet the friendly, round-faced old wife of the merchant who owned the shop next to Will's smithy.

The elderly shopkeeper in particular had embraced Elizabeth's presence among the common folk with a motherly delight, and behaved occasionally as a chaperone when the swordsmith's fiancée came to visit.  Today, she dropped the broom where she had been sweeping dust away from the baskets of fruit and vegetables for sale outside the shop and exclaimed in dismay, "Oh, I say, Marm, frightful good o' ye ter walk all the way down here in this fell heat, so it is!  And yer young lad been workin' so dreadful 'ard these days!  A wonder 'e 'asn't keeled right over.  But such a good, devoted man, 'e'll make a fine--yeh, well," the plump old woman's round cheeks went pinker in the sun, and she grinned sheepishly, beckoning to Elizabeth.  "If ye'll jest wait a minute, dearie," she disappeared into the shop.  Elizabeth grinned at the sound of her rummaging about, then Mrs. Tapling scurried back out with a small jug in hand, dripping from where it had been immersed in a pail of cold seawater.  "Got some nice lemonade fer ye and yer young man.  Ye tell 'im fer me 'e'd best keep 'imself from getting' too hot.  Baker Jones's poor lil' apprentice fainted dead away after too long in front of the ovens this mornin', she did!"

Elizabeth laughingly promised to see to Will's well-being, and reached into her skirt pocket for a shilling, but Mrs. Tapling refused with a vigorous shake of her head.  "Oh, no no, Miss, wouldn' dream of it!"

"Oh, Mrs. Tapling, I must insist, you are so very kind--"

Firmly, Mrs. Tapling raised her hands, "Now see 'ere, Miss, yer young Will's been right good to Mr. Tapling when 'e wasn't able to pay fer them window bars quite on time last month.  Right patient, 'e was, and we's in 'is debt for bein' so understandin', thought we'd never be able to get ourselves back up after that dreadful raid two years ago.  You take 'im that lemonade as a gift from me, please, Miss."

Helpless to refuse, Elizabeth thanked the old shopkeeper profusely, and headed on her way.  She found the smithy's doors wide open, a testament to just how hot it was this afternoon.  The air rang with the usual clanging of the hammer, and while most passers-by clapped their hands over their ears, Elizabeth felt a smile come unbidden to her face, as it always did.  

_ "So this is the path you've chosen, is it?"_ her father had asked when she had openly declared her love for Will.  _"After all, he is a blacksmith."_

_ "No,"_ she had replied lightly.  _"He's a pirate."_

Standing in the doorway, seeing the figure silhouetted against the cherry heat of the forge raising sparks from another red-hot piece of metal, she grinned to herself at the memory.  She might have playfully implied that the idea of Will as a pirate made him all the more desirable to her, but the truth of the matter was…she would just as gladly take the blacksmith.

Not that being a simple blacksmith's wife would bother Elizabeth in the slightest, but she felt as much pride in Will's accomplishments as he did, and would never allow anyone, least of all herself, to overlook them.  Will was by far the best blacksmith in the colony, the only swordsmith that any reputable soldier or gentleman commissioned, and he was even able to work gold and silver on occasion.

At the moment, the object of her contemplation sensed her presence, and straightened, slowly setting down the hammer and coming toward the door, tossing a finished iron door handle into the quenching barrel as he passed.  As Will came into the light streaming from the doors, Elizabeth frowned.  It wasn't merely the failure of her presence to bring a smile to his face as it usually did, nor the careless fashion in which he had tossed the door handle into the water, nor the sweat, soot, and slump of his proud shoulders that bespoke many hours of hard labor.  It was the lack of usual sparkle in his black eyes that raised an inkling of dismay in her, that slightly dazed look as if he weren't quite certain what she was doing there, what day of the week it was, or even what he himself was doing.  It was quite normal for Will to become immersed in his work--"care and devotion" Commodore Norrington had called it, and rightly so--but this was the first time since Elizabeth had known Will that he appeared to be drowning in it.

So without preamble, she set down the basket with the picnic lunch she'd brought for them and the jug of Mrs. Tapling's lemonade, and walked up to him.  "You look terrible," she observed calmly.

Will blinked as though coming out of a trance.  "What?" he asked in confusion, but before he could request that she elaborate, she seized his shoulders and kissed him soundly.  She had always liked the fact that she was very nearly his height.  She had always thought it would be rather undignified to be forced to kiss a man while balancing on her toes.

If Will was in a foul mood, his reaction to her kiss did not show it, and he responded hesitantly at first, but then pulled her into a deeper kiss with all the intensity that a man dying of thirst might cling to the edge of a newly-found stream.  For a few moments at least, Elizabeth was content to stand in his embrace, despite the heat of the forge and the sun upon the roof, the smell of sweat and soot.  Will himself tasted like spiced coffee, and the firm muscles of his strong arms felt wonderful under her hands.  But then she felt him tremble slightly in her grasp and pulled back, frowning at him.  "What is it?" she asked softly.

He was smiling at last, but it was a rather forced smile.  "It's nothing," he replied, his eyes soft as they took in her face.  They still hadn't lost that "drowning" look, and it troubled her.  

"It is not nothing," she said firmly, narrowing her eyes at him.  "You look…different."

"Just a little tired," he insisted, stepping back and dropping his eyes.  Elizabeth found herself wishing she had paid more attention to what Jack Sparrow and his crew had actually said when they had casually shouted curses at each other and everything during her stint in their company.  She now found herself feeling that she'd have a use for such words.

"In that case," she retorted archly, seizing his arm and forcibly linking it with hers, "we shall have to remedy it.  Come.  I've brought a picnic and dear Mrs. Tapling was kind enough to give me a jug of her lemonade to go with it."

Will's slightly frantic expression confirmed her suspicions that his work was the cause for this quietness of spirit.  "I can't, Elizabeth!" he protested, lowering his voice.  "There is so much left to--"

Elizabeth stepped back and put her hands on her hips in the best imitation of her old governess, the implacable Mrs. Simms, that she could manage.  "William Turner, I will have none of that," she announced sternly.  "Mrs. Tapling herself worries that you will keel over if you continue to work at this frenzied pace, and I see now she was not far from the truth.  You are coming with me out of this inferno to take a proper meal in the open air--by heaven, I should have done this sooner.  How long has it been since you have eaten while sitting down--do not answer that," she added.  Will's face, she was pleased to note, was slowly losing that disgruntled look. 

Resigned in the face of her determination, Will bent to pick up the basket and lemonade jug, not quite able to hide his body's stiffness from his fiancée's observant eyes.  "As you will, Miss Swann," he replied formally.  "But in that case, you might at least do me the kindness of explaining my absence to my clientele when they come in search of orders not yet filled due to this delay."

Allowing herself a snort of laughter, Elizabeth retorted, "I'll do nothing of the kind, Mr. Turner, for it is your clients' fault for overburdening all their needs upon a single pair of hands, and yours for taking on this great mountain of orders rather than directing them elsewhere."  She indicated the cluttered shop with a jerk of her head as she propelled him out the door by the arm.  "You'll find yourself better able to face all that with a full stomach and a rested mind later.  It's no wonder you're so overworked."

Will just shook his head, aware that it was useless to argue with her.  

***

They settled down for their picnic on a hillside in the shade of an old citrus grove, overlooking one of the island's many sugar plantations.  Will spread their blanket in the shade of a large orange tree--and frightened Elizabeth by promptly climbing _up_ said tree in search of late-season fruit.

"Come back down here!" she shrieked as his feet disappeared into the leaves.  "You'll break your neck!"

"No, I won't," came the response from somewhere in the thick green mass.  "Aha…bring the basket!"

Elizabeth hastily emptied their lunch onto the blanket and scurried under the tree, giggling like a schoolgirl.  "All right, I'm ready!"

"Catch!"  Three fat oranges came toppling from the foliage.  She managed to catch one, a second survived intact, but the third struck a root and exploded with a ripe splat.  

"Oh dear."

"No matter.  Here!"  Two more came tumbling into her view, and she yelped with delight when she managed to capture them both.

"Now come down from there!" she ordered, her attempt to sound stern thwarted by her laughter.  His laughter was smug as he descended and jumped down from the last branch to land beside her.  "You look better already."

"It must be the company," he replied, and they sank down onto the blanket for their lunch.

She handed him a sandwich stuffed with sliced tuna, and hid her amusement at the way he attacked it.  Having known him so long--and, she now realized, having loved him as long as she had known him--Elizabeth was well acquainted with her betrothed's moods, and knew that the best way to handle him in a difficult frame of mind was not to let on that she had noticed.  Will tended to grow flustered and embarrassed if he believed he had made a social error in her presence, and so she took care not to notice his overly-hearty appetite and instead concentrated on slipping food surreptitiously into his hand without comment.  To her relief, he was too hungry to notice. 

_Perhaps I shall end twice lucky this afternoon, and he will be so full that he'll fall asleep_, she thought with a smile.  That her fiancé noticed.  "What?"

Her smile grew broader, and she scooted closer to him on the blanket.  "I was merely thinking how glad I was that I persuaded you to come."

That little flicker of consternation in his dark eyes made her want to scream in frustration.  His "care and devotion" was one of many things about him that she loved, along with his sense of discipline and responsibility and dedication but…for heaven's sake, must he devote _so much_ to that wretched shop of his?!  It felt absurd to her that Will, still very much a boy by the standards of nearly everyone in Port Royal, should be practically consumed with guilt for taking the time to eat lunch sitting down instead of with one hand on the hammer or bellows.

Well, she'd have none of it.  Folding her arms across her chest in an Anamaria-like fashion and leaning toward him, she said curtly, "Now see here, Mr. Turner.  I will not tolerate any protestations of responsibilities to your work.  You've worked yourself to exhaustion with not a day off in weeks--don't think I did not hear of you getting into trouble for working last Sunday--and if you continue this way, it will reflect badly in your crafts, not to mention that I've scarcely seen you in a month!"

It was the wrong card to play.  Will's eyes widened, and his mouth opened in a look of utter devastation, and he whispered, "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth.  I've been neglecting you--"

"Oh, _blast_ it!" Elizabeth snatched off her hat and flung it onto the blanket, then kissed him furiously.  "That was not what I meant."

"But you said--"

"I said you had been working too hard to feel guilty for taking a few hours off.  Now stop," she said in a softer voice, putting a hand over his lips when he would have argued.  "I was not speaking for myself; I've been worried about you.  You take too much upon yourself."

Will reached up and pulled her hand away from his face gently.  "Many people in Port Royal rely upon my work, Elizabeth," he told her seriously.  "The governor said it himself when he sent me to apprentice for Mr. Brown ten years ago, that no craft was more necessary to the success of a colony than the blacksmith's--"

"Oh hush," Elizabeth said, swatting him with her hat.  "I recall more recently that he seemed to feel it was that very craft that made you somehow unworthy of me.  I love my father, Will, but he often speaks what he considers 'best suited to the occasion' rather than what he truly thinks.  Your craft is important, but not so much that you must wear yourself down to nothing to satisfy your impatient customers."  To take the sting out of her words, she kissed his brow softly.  "They will survive waiting an extra day for their door handles or horse shoes.  Even their swords.  We have no great shortage of swords in Port Royal that requires you slaving away day and night to make more."

"Oh?" Will leaned back and raised an eyebrow at her challengingly.  "And pray tell, when have you been skulking about the fort counting swords so that you would know?"

Elizabeth laughed aloud, and delivered her final coup de grâce.  "I did not need to.  I heard dear Commodore Norrington telling my father that very thing after placing yet another absurd order with you." She rolled her eyes in mild annoyance.  "I also heard my father asking why he felt it necessary to burden you with so many orders, and Mr. Gillette said something to the effect of 'one never knows when more swords will come in handy, but it's useful to take advantage of a craftsman as eager to please as Turner.'" She glanced sideways at Will and grinned at his outraged expression.  "Perhaps you should follow a bit of the late Mr. Brown's example, Will.  No one ever beat down the door when a sword or horse shoe wasn't ready precisely on time.  You're spoiling your customers."

Looking highly disgruntled, Will muttered, "I shall have to rethink my work ethic."

Chuckling, Elizabeth reached for the basket.  "In which case, you can certainly spare enough time for more lemonade and one of these oranges you risked life and limb for.  Come," she patted the blanket next to her.  "Tell me of something other than that wretched smithy.  Tell me of your plans for our house."

Will obliged, and they shared oranges and the last of the lemonade as a cooling breeze off the sea chased the worst of the heat away.  As Elizabeth had hoped, all the food after long days of heavy labor lulled Will into a drowsy inertia, and she was able to sidle up to him without causing embarrassment.  (Despite all they'd been through, he could be so frustratingly proper at times!)  Today, however, that did not seem likely to be a problem, and when she stole an arm around him and began gently stroking his hair, Will only sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, leaning back against her chest.  

Elizabeth could scarcely keep still in her delight.  Thoughts of their house and their future were usually enough to keep her impatience at bay, but at other times, it was all she could do to keep from crying in despair.  Two years!  Two years since she'd made her chosen path known, and still they were unmarried, still Will blushed if she so much as took his hand in the presence of her father, still they were expected to behave as naught more than proper acquaintances, when in truth she felt that he was the other half of her soul, and that she would die if kept apart from him too long.  

However, today need not be a frustrating day.  Maneuvering as carefully as possible, she eased Will's head from her shoulder to her lap, then leaned back against the bole of the orange tree and watched the ships coming in.  Tomorrow she would be back to lonely boredom in her father's house, longing for the day that still seemed so far in the future, and Will would be back in that stifling little shop single-handedly shouldering the iron and weapon needs of practically all Port Royal.  Tomorrow they would be back to frustrating unwedded life.

Will stirred in her lap and she glanced down at him apprehensively, but then he settled again, and she bent down and gently kissed his forehead.

At least for now, everything else, including tomorrow, seemed very far away.

_To Be Continued…_

**_Coming up next:_**_  It's the wedding of the year…but not Elizabeth and Will's, and a wealthy, handsome stranger makes some unpleasant waves in Port Royal.  _

**Don't Forget To Review!**


	2. Chapter One: Of Wealth and Wedding Plan...

**_Author's Notes:_**_  Many, many thanks for all the reviews and comments.  In response to reviewer concerns, I am aware that events in my prologue bears more than a passing resemblance to M.N. Theis's excellent story, "The Measure of a Man" (which I highly recommend, by the way.)  Although I first dreamed up that romantic little picnic with Will falling asleep in Elizabeth's lap on the very night I first saw the movie, it's only fair to acknowledge that the very-talented Miss Theis got to it first.  However, I got in touch with her before posting this fic to explain the situation, and she was all right with it.  I'm a great fan of hers and would never want to muscle in on her territory.  ;-)_

**_In other news:_**_  I know some of you are wondering, so for all the Jack fans…our favorite pirate captain makes his grand entrance soon!  Be patient!_

**_Please Also Note:_**_  My internet service is going down sometime soon pending a move onto campus, so it may be a week or so till my next update.  But this chapter got too long, so I had to chop it in half._

**Chapter One:  Of Wealth and Wedding Plans**

_The governor's mansion, the following morning…_

"Oh, for heaven's _sake_, Elizabeth!"

Opening her eyes and immediately shutting them again in the offensive sunlight the maid was letting in from the window, Elizabeth groaned, "Gracious, Father, how is it that I've managed to offend you before even waking up?"

Striding indignantly to Elizabeth's bedside as she sat rubbing her eyes, Governor Weatherby Swann said sternly, "It has been brought to my attention that you spent the better part of yesterday afternoon on a…on a…_picnic_ with that Turner boy!"

The memory of the previous day brought a soft smile to her face, and seeing it, her father threw up his hands.  "By God, child, have you _no_ sense of propriety?  Spending nearly an entire day with that boy alone, unchaperoned?"

Warm thoughts of Will vanished in a flare of irritation, and Elizabeth snatched up her dressing gown.  "Yes, we were alone, but as we were seated on a high hill above a very active sugar plantation overlooking the entire harbor, I doubt if anyone can accuse us of behaving untowardly."

"You had his head in your lap!"

"Then you know exactly where we were and what we were doing, so I hardly see the need for such a fuss."

"Elizabeth, that boy--"

"Father!" Brushing past the maid, Elizabeth stood in front of him with her arms folded stubbornly.  In a slow, deliberate voice, she said, "My _fiancé's_ _name_ is Will Turner.  I'll thank you to do him the courtesy of using it."

Weatherby Swann sighed heavily.  "I might feel more inclined to do so if Mr. Turner would not behave as if you were already his wife and not his fiancée.  There are certain conventions to be observed, even if his upbringing is beneath yours."

"Father, really!"

"His _head_ in your _lap_, Elizabeth?!"

Through gritted teeth, she replied, "He was tired, and I deliberately overfed him to make him sleepy.  I would prefer that my intended not work himself to death before our wedding."

She knew at once she should not have mentioned Will's work.  Her father's eyes narrowed.  "Speaking of his work, my dear--"

"—Father."  She turned away and stared fixedly out the window.  "Must we have this conversation again?"

While Weatherby Swann was painfully aware that it would be useless to refuse his daughter's hand to Will Turner if Elizabeth had her heart set on it—and to Swann's credit, he would not dream of taking so open a stance against her wishes—he still made it no secret that the young smith's situation in life was far beneath what he would even begin to consider desirable in a match for his daughter.  As a result, he had attempted on more than one occasion to gently point out the pitfalls of Elizabeth's chosen husband, and the discussion nearly always ended in a fit of temper from one or both of them.  Elizabeth would hear no ill word against Will, particularly as concerned things over which he had no control, such as his bloodline or his upbringing or his means.

Just as she began to fear that another insufferable lecture about Will's failings was imminent, her father's hands came to rest upon her shoulders.  "I only want you to be happy."

As fast as her annoyance had come, it vanished and was replaced by a lump in her throat.  Whispering so he would not be able to tell her change of mood, she answered, "I know.  But I am happy."

She did not fool him.  To her frequent fury, she had never been able to hide her emotions from her father.  Whatever his other failings, Weatherby Swann knew his only child's moods well, and cared enough to pay attention to them.  He turned her gently around, one hand raising her chin to see the glimmer of tears in her eyes.  "Then what is troubling you?  You've been out of sorts for days.  Is it Commodore Norrington's approaching wedding to Lucinda Hamilton?"

Disgusted with herself for revealing so much, Elizabeth stepped away and went to dress herself.  "Not in the way you hope, Father.  I'm sorry.  If I envy Lucy Hamilton, it is only because of her good fortune in marrying so soon."

"James Norrington is a fine man, Elizabeth, and he cared very much for you," came her father's voice from beyond the screen.

"It's pointless to dwell on it now," she replied.  "I have made my choice and never regretted it.  It is Will Turner whom I intend to marry, and Lucy will make Commodore Norrington happier than I could have.  She will be happier with him than I would have been.  It was not to be."

"Then it is merely impatience that troubles you?" the governor asked in a thoughtful tone.

Elizabeth heaved a sigh that became a hiss.  "Loosen that wretched thing, Mary," she told the maid petulantly, tugging at her corset.  "Yes, Father, that's all.  Two years is a long time."

"Well…I have to say again that at least the boy had a sense of propriety. Waiting a bit seems the practical thing to do for a blacksmith chooses to court someone so far above his station."

Elizabeth bristled, and peered around the screen at her father.  "Consider yourself fortunate that it's a blacksmith I'm marrying, Father."

He chuckled, "I suppose I must, since that blacksmith very nearly became a pirate."

"Indeed.  For I assure you, if Will had chosen the pirate's life, then your daughter would be a pirate's wife."  She smiled sweetly and pulled back behind the screen.

"Elizabeth!" came the scandalized response.  "That is hardly a matter for levity!"

"I quite agree," she said in a serious tone, glad that he could not see the grin on her face.  "How fortunate that I'm not joking."

"Elizabeth!!"

"As I said," she told him, leaning around the screen again to meet his alarmed gaze with a dead-serious one of her own, "consider yourself twice lucky. I will have Will Turner, no matter what his lot in life, no matter how long his practicality forces me to wait until he feels able to support me.  So you had best be thankful Will is just as honorable a man as James Norrington, even if he possesses less means."

She left her father standing mutely while she finished getting dressed.  _Perhaps that will finally end his hope that I'm at all regretting my decision.  I daresay the good Commodore Norrington no longer regrets it._

***

_Later that day, at the smithy…_

As usual, Elizabeth's sense had been correct, and Will felt considerably better about his work—and life in general—after yesterday's unexpected but welcome rest.  He had been a bit startled when he woke at sunset to find his head nestled in Elizabeth's lap and half a day's work wasted, but had found himself too at peace with the world to be terribly upset about something as trivial as neglected work.  Today, he had cause to be grateful, for the shop was as busy as ever.  But now at least Will could approach his work with his customary dedication, rather than dread.  

Adding yet another finished sword to the rack containing Commodore Norrington's order, Will smiled to himself.  This batch in all likelihood would be finished on time, but after what Elizabeth had revealed about the officers' attitude toward his efforts to accommodate them, he could safely say this was the last time he would bend over backwards for their sake.  Oh, he had his sense of duty, true, and he would never deliberately fail to finish an order by the appointed time, but now…he intended to see to it that the appointed time was set by himself, rather than his customers. 

_"Eager to please," perhaps I am, but I am no fool, Lieutenant Gillette.  And I've no intention of being taken for one, in my craft or in any other way, for that matter._  Will gave the bellows a yank and pulled a now red-hot blade from the forge for his next sword.  Sparks flew and the steel sang as he folded it and pounded it into place, his hands acting instinctively to balance the blade with its handle.  It was a satisfying action, the rhythmic pounding and ringing of metal being bent to his will, and his smith's senses told him this would be a good sword, taking shape willingly, unlike others which seemed to fight him with every strike of the hammer.  As old Jonathan Brown had told Will repeatedly back when he'd had his wits, _"The shaping of a sword is like raising a child, young Will.  They all have their personalities, and ye can only mold it so far, for you've got to feel it too, lad, and let it grow the way **it** wants to grow."_

That pleasant reminiscence, the easy way the cherry-hot blade took shape under his hammer, and the even more pleasant memory of the afternoon spent with Elizabeth yesterday had Will in a fair mood, and he hummed softly to himself as he worked.  Time had slowed down, and he had no desire to track it; there was little point in his line of work.  Lifting the sword briefly, he nodded to himself at the distribution of the metal's weight, and set it down again, ready for the last few strikes of the hammer before affixing it to its handle.

_Clang!  Clang!  Clang!_  The metal of hammer, sword, and anvil rang cheerfully as Will mentally counted the strokes, knowing exactly the point when and where he would need to stop.  The blade glowed red in the darkened smithy, its color telling Will as much as the weight and its shape.  Nearly there…_clang!  Clang—_

_Thud!_  The door to the smithy flew open so suddenly and so loudly that Will launched himself away from the anvil in alarm, dropping the hammer.  "What the devil?!" Will spun around, intending to demand satisfaction from the visitor for entering without knocking.

He found himself nearly toe-to-toe with a very tall, clearly-noble man with aristocratic features, in the hideous gray wig that never seemed to go out of fashion among statesmen, dressed in finery to rival even Governor Swann and Elizabeth, with a bearing pompous enough to put Commodore Norrington to shame.  He sneered down his nose at the smith, before Will, seething over the rude entry while he was at a delicate point in his work, demanded curtly, "Are you looking for something?"

In a bored tone, without really looking at Will, the visitor replied, "I am looking for your master, boy."

Under most circumstances, manners were of great importance to Will, and it was not as if he was unaccustomed to being patronized by the gentry.  All the same, he had just been interrupted at a crucial stage in his craft all because this rude stranger had not seen fit to knock upon his door, and now saw fit to treat him dismissively.  Picking the dirtied hammer off the floor and setting it down on the worktable, he replied with barest civility.  "Then you have found him, sir.  I am my master."

"You?"  The man lifted an elegant eyebrow in mock-astonishment and chuckled, looking Will up and down.  

"Yes, me," said Will curtly.  "I assume you had some purpose in bursting into my establishment without the courtesy of a knock?  Or shall I show you to the door and return to my work?"

His voice now quite frosty, the man replied, "I should take you up upon your latter request, if I had not been told that a William Turner's establishment was the only reputable smithy in this wretched fishing village.  Am I to assume that you," his eyes wandered over Will's dirty work clothes and mussed hair with an air of faint disbelief, "are that smith?"

"I am William Turner," Will confirmed, equally coldly.  "To what do I owe the _honor_ of this visit to my humble establishment, _sir_?"  He supposed he should make at least an attempt at politeness to this obviously upstanding visitor, but the man's manner (or lack thereof) had added insult to injury, and it was not to be borne.  

But like the most pompous of gentlemen, the stranger cared little what lowly Will Turner thought of him, or even how he reacted, and simply went on with his intended purpose.  Pulling out a sheaf of papers and thrusting them at Will, he said, "These are the designs for a matching dagger and belt knife that are to be a bridegroom gift.  If you complete them in a satisfactory and timely fashion, your fee shall be, I daresay," he ran disdainful eyes over the smithy again, "better than you're used to."

Taking the papers, Will eyed the designs.  Complicated and elegant, but nothing he could not manage, given time.  Rather challenging, even.  "When would you require them to be completed?" he asked, mentally forging the two weapons in his head.

"Within forty-eight hours."

The papers forgotten, Will looked up in astonishment.  "Two days?!  I am very sorry, sir, but that will not be possible."

The man's expression was now a combination of outrage and incredulity, that Will would dare to refuse him.  "What?!"

Steeling himself in determination not to be bullied, Will explained, "I have no apprentice as yet, sir, and thus all work in this smithy falls to me.  I am at this moment in the midst of completing a large order of swords for the Commodore of the fort."  Seeing the man's eyes preparing to bug out of his head in affrontry, Will elaborated tightly, "All military orders have priority, sir," without dropping his eyes.

The stranger took a threatening step forward, and might even have appeared rather threatening, if his several inches in height over Will were not counteracted by that ridiculous wig.  "Young man…do you know who I am?"

Affecting a slightly bored tone of his own, Will replied, "I'm afraid you did not honor me with an introduction, sir, but regardless, I am unable to have the knife and dagger ready within forty-eight hours.  Seventy-two hours at the earliest."

"I will not tolerate insolence, you obstinate brat!" the man's face was taking on a purplish hue.

Will found that he was beginning to enjoy this.  In his mildest voice, he answered, "I am merely stating a fact, sir.  It will be quite impossible to complete the knife and dagger at the time you have requested."

"Then I shall have to look into taking my commission elsewhere!" the man threatened, his face now quite red.

"That would be my recommendation," Will said with a slight bow.  However much this man could afford to pay him, it was not worth setting aside all his other commissions—and certainly not worth the prospect of having to deal with this customer again.

The younger man's calm acceptance of the withdrawn offer of commission left the visitor positively shaking with rage.  Stepping toward the door, he growled, "I am the most prominent visitor this crude little outpost has seen in many years, boy.  Be assured, the governor will hear of this."

Will bowed again and bit hard on the inside of his mouth as the nobleman stormed back out, leaving a vague impression of ruffled feathers in his wake.  Will chuckled quietly to himself and turned back to the anvil as if he had never been interrupted.  However, his heart sank at the sight of the unfinished blade; the metal had cooled and hardened far too much for any hope of saving it.

Picking the blade up and examining it mournfully, Will shook his head at the waste.  It would have been a good sword.  He sighed and took the folded steel back to the forge; the metal could still be used, but this blade as it had been could not be salvaged.  He sighed again as the hot coals claimed the metal and murmured, "Perhaps it was not meant to be."

By working fast, he managed to finish one more sword that afternoon, and was contemplating putting in a late night toward completing another when there was a frantic rapping on the door.  Opening it revealed a wild-eyed and disheveled Elizabeth, accompanied by one of the governor's manservants. "What's wrong?!" Will exclaimed in alarm.

"Nothing!" she hastened to assure him, coming inside.  "I was just in a hurry."  She was forced to pause to catch her breath, then went on, "I realize it's short notice, Will, but would you come to dinner at my father's house tonight?"

A wave of utter horror swept over him as he glanced over his filthy clothes; they along with most of his exposed skin were covered in dirt, sweat, and grease.  "Elizabeth, I can't possibly make myself presentable in time for a--"

"I know, I know," she laughed.  "That's why I brought George."  The valet nodded solemnly, hiding whatever opinions he had on his mistress's suitor behind the typical servant mannerisms, and Elizabeth added, "It's rather short notice for everyone, just an informal meal with Commodore Norrington and Lucinda Hamilton.  Lucy's family has arrived from England for the wedding, but the ship arrived late and there's no time to arrange a proper banquet."

Will wavered; Elizabeth's clear eagerness for him to be with her was difficult to refuse…but then her idea of informality and his were two _very_ different things.  "I…"

Her face turned serious.  "It would make me very happy if you were there," she said, her liquid brown eyes sincerely.  He felt his resistance crumble, and she caught it, her eyes sparkling.  "Oh, Will, say yes!"

With a helpless laugh, Will nodded, and she clapped her hands once in excitement, kissed his cheek despite the dirt on his face, and gave the manservant a highly unladylike shove forward.  "George, accompany Mr. Turner to his rooms and see to it that he's…presentable!"  Her playful laughter followed Will back into the small suite of rooms behind the smithy where he lived.

It was amazing how quickly one could tidy oneself when awaited by a beautiful and impatient lady—and assisted by a capable servant.  In less than an hour, Will was escorting Elizabeth back to her father's house, dressed in his finest garments and wearing the cloak and hat his fiancée liked best—the ones he'd bought after returning from rescuing her from Barbossa.  He looked well; his best clothes saw little wear and thus lasted longer than most people's, despite Will's ascension to the ranks of Port Royal's most successful merchants.  So he was well-dressed—not like a nobleman perhaps, but presentable.

Elizabeth only accompanied him through the front door.  "I must go and dress myself," she explained with a quick glance at the parlor door, where cheerful voices could already be heard.  "George, please tell my father that Mr. Turner has arrived.  I'll be down shortly."  She leaned forward to swiftly kiss his chin, then hurried away up the stairs.

Will found himself alone in the dim foyer, already regretting allowing Elizabeth to persuade him to this.  The doors to the parlor opened, and Governor Swann emerged.  "Mr. Turner, I'm so pleased you could come," he said in a formal voice that sounded anything but pleased.

With a socially correct half-bow, Will replied carefully, "You honored me with the invitation, sir."

"Yes," Swann's face wore a perpetual expression of uneasy cheer in Will's presence that he had adopted almost as soon as Elizabeth's affections became known.  "I could hardly fail to when my daughter practically begged me on her knees."  Will decided that it was best not to answer and forced a smile.  "Take Mr. Turner's hat, Simpson," Swann ordered the butler curtly.  "Let us join my guests until my daughter appears."

Shedding his hat and cloak into the butler's hands, Will followed Swann into the parlor, trying to pretend his jacket had never been mended and his shoes weren't scuffed from arriving at the governor's mansion on foot.  He entered the brightly-lit room to find a small crowd of people dressed in glittering finery and engaged in the kind of society small talk that promised to expose Will as an impoverished ignoramus to their eyes within minutes.

Not that there was much chance of avoiding that, if the reception he received was any indication.  Most of the guests glanced up as the governor entered, but summarily dismissed the modestly-attired youth in his wake.  Probably a footman or household messenger, they undoubtedly assumed.  And Will was not terribly surprised that Swann failed to announce him; although technically Will was the governor's future son-in-law, thus meriting an introduction to the guests, acknowledgment of such an unsuitable match in this regal company would prove quite an embarrassment for a society man. 

Left alone again just within the parlor doors like the unwanted guest he was, Will tried to remain inconspicuous while searching helplessly for a friendly face in that roomful of cultivated disdain.  And rescue finally came…from the most unlikely source imaginable.  "Mr. Turner?"  Will blinked at the sight of Commodore Norrington approaching him.

"Commodore," he acknowledged with a cautious nod.  

Norrington, though stoic as always, appeared to be the only man in the room who did not find Will's presence offensive.  "I am pleased to see Elizabeth persuaded you to join us."

"Thank you, sir, I was honored to be invited," said Will, feeling like a parrot despite his rush of surprising gratitude toward the Commodore.

Norrington too seemed slightly at a loss for words; their usual topics of conversation (namely Will's work and piracy) would be out of place here.  At that moment, a bubbly voice exclaimed, "James?  Can this be the famous Will Turner?"

Will prayed he was not blushing as they were joined by an extravagantly-gowned young woman with light golden hair piled elegantly over a face that did not look to have ever seen the sun's rays, her skin was so pale.  Her light blue eyes twinkled mischievously as she flashed a dimpled smile at Norrington, who responded with a small smile of his own and offered her his arm.  "Mr. Turner, may I present my fiancée, Miss Lucinda Hamilton."

Will stepped back and bowed to her as graciously as he could, despite the fact that he felt like a ruffian before this gleaming work of high society art.  "Miss Hamilton.  I am honored to make your acquaintance."

Even if he had not already heard a great deal about Lucy Hamilton—the match between her, the daughter of a _very_ wealthy English politician and Commodore Norrington was the subject of much town gossip—he would have been able to tell she was younger than Elizabeth and far less aware that a world existed beyond the gilded halls she frequented.  Her wide eyes took in Will, a shabby, unpredictable intruder in her elegant life, with fascinated curiosity as a child might view a large and potentially dangerous dog that has slipped through the fence and come into the yard.  In that voice that still seemed on the verge of a giggle, she remarked, "So you are dear Elizabeth's suitor?  How lovely!  She and James speak so highly of you, Mr. Turner—and not merely your swords," she added, giggling openly at last.

Will forced himself to give her what he hoped was a smile and she beamed at him from Norrington's arm.  Norrington himself seemed to like his betrothed, and while she both intimidated and confounded Will with her looks and small talk, he supposed that a society man like the Commodore would find her sort of company quite pleasing.  (In truth, he had long hoped Norrington had indeed fallen in love with Lucinda Hamilton at first sight, as the rumors had it, for reasons too obvious to merit naming.)  

Just then, the door behind him opened, and it was with a rush of relief that he turned to see Elizabeth, now resplendent with a fresh gown and curled hair, coming to his side.  "Elizabeth!" exclaimed Lucinda immediately, leaving her fiancé's side to kiss Elizabeth on both cheeks.  "You are unforgivably late!  I was forced to ask James for an introduction to this elusive beau of yours, and my poor father's not even had the pleasure of seeing you yet!"

"Indeed I haven't," said a voice from behind Will.  It was not an entirely unfamiliar voice.  Will slowly turned around, and his heart landed somewhere below his ankles.  Looking down at him with an expression that would have been called a sneer in less-than-polite society was a startlingly tall man with light brown hair just beginning to gray, steel gray eyes, and elegant, haughty features that gave him a strong, proud face where other men were beginning to lose their features with age.  While he was undoubtedly close to Governor Swann's age, he looked younger and far more vigorous.  Even without the curly wig he'd been wearing before, Will recognized him.

It was the man whom Will had refused a commission from this afternoon at the smithy.  

Walking slowly past Will and allowing his eyes to slide away as if the young man did not merit a second glance, he gracefully took Elizabeth's hand and brushed her knuckles to his lips with a bow.  "My dear Miss Swann.  I must say that I took the tales of your beauty to be a girlish exaggeration by my daughter, but now I see she has failed to do you justice."  His voice was low, throaty, and anything but fatherly.  Will felt his blood boiling.

Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise, though what exactly the effect had been on her, Will could not be sure.  Governor Swann cleared his throat.  "My dear Sir Reginald, I do beg your pardon.  I present my daughter, Elizabeth.  Elizabeth, this is Sir Reginald Hamilton, only just arrived from England."

Inclining her head, Elizabeth said graciously, "I am honored to meet you, Sir Reginald.  Welcome to Port Royal.  I do apologize that I was not present to greet you when you first arrived."

Lucinda Hamilton giggled.  "Of course you were not present; you were too occupied with snaring this dreadfully handsome young man of yours for us to meet."

Now _every_ eye in the room fell on Will, and he felt his face growing very hot.  Elizabeth moved at once to his side, sliding her arm gently into his.  "And as I promised, Lucy, here he is.  Sir Reginald Hamilton, this is William Turner."

With a very soft laugh, Sir Reginald looked down his nose at Will, his eyes lingering on the scuffed shoes and not-quite invisible mend in the shirt and murmured, "Thank you, Miss Swann.  In fact, Mr. Turner and I met this afternoon."  As Elizabeth raised curious eyebrows and Will contemplated impaling himself on that newly-made sword, Hamilton glanced about until he had the full attention of everyone in the room and elaborated delicately, "At Mr. Turner's _shop._"

There was the faintest rustle of silk and taffeta as the gentry reacted to the confirmation of the rumors that Weatherby Swann's eligible daughter was indeed being courted by a blacksmith.  Will forced himself to keep his head up—even though the pattern of the carpet had suddenly become fascinating.  If it weren't for the gentle squeeze of Elizabeth's fingers on his arm, he did not think he would have managed. 

Again, it was Commodore Norrington who took the helm.  "Mr. Turner's establishment is the finest on this island, Sir Reginald, I daresay even in the entire Caribbean.  I would hardly call it a shop, as he is patronized by the most discerning clientele in the colony.  I will have my officers' swords crafted by no one else."

Both Will and Elizabeth shot Norrington grateful glances as the guests eyed each other, and the tradesman in their midst, thoughtfully.  Will could almost see the calculations running over their faces.  Tradesmen as a rule were not to be given the same privileges as gentlemen, but in some cases…an exception might be made…if it were not merely a tradesman but an accomplished artisan whose work was especially admired…perhaps…

Then came the words Will had been dreading.  He supposed it would have been too much to hope that Hamilton would not be searching for ways to humiliate him as thoroughly as possible in response to the afternoon's events.  "Indeed, Commodore?  I had heard much the same thing, and thus it distressed me greatly when Mr. Turner was unable to accept a commission from me."

Heads swiveled back to face Will, including Elizabeth's.  To any other observer, her delicately arched eyebrows might have displayed nothing more than idle curiosity, but Will could see her eyes wide with alarm.  Sir Reginald was not a man to be trifled with, even if he were not the soon-to-be father-in-law of the fort's commanding officer and a close friend to the governor.  Swallowing, Will managed to keep his voice steady as he replied, "I do apologize, sir.  But as I said then, I would have been unable to complete your…commission without depriving Commodore Norrington of a timely delivery of his swords."  He shot what he hoped was an apologetic glance at Norrington, deciding if the Commodore had elected to almost-defend him twice this evening, he was the closest thing to an ally Will had in this room apart from Elizabeth.

To his intense relief, Norrington gave a dry laugh, and agreed, "Perhaps I should apologize myself, Sir Reginald, for I confess to being a rather demanding patron of Mr. Turner.  I shall endeavor not to burden him so in the future so that his skills may be put to the use of men outside the fort."

That left no way for Hamilton to press his attack without embarrassing his daughter's betrothed, so the man left it, but the coldly amused look he tossed at Will indicated that there would be more blows to come throughout the evening.  _You've made a powerful enemy, Turner,_ Will thought.

At that moment, a maid entered and whispered to Governor Swann, who in turn announced to the guests, "Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served."

Will could not help tightening his grip upon Elizabeth's arm at the way Hamilton's face turned towards her speculatively.  He had heard from the local wives in town that Sir Reginald's wife had died two years ago, and that the now-retired member of Parliament was contemplating moving himself to the Caribbean permanently to be near Lucinda, who had been living here with her aunt and uncle since her mother's death.  _God forbid!_

He felt Hamilton's eyes on them with every step into the dining room, and it was all he could do to pull out Elizabeth's chair properly and seat himself opposite her.  Fortunately, he had two more guests between himself and Sir Reginald, so he would not have to look at the man's elegant, smirking face throughout the meal—for which he was immensely thankful, because he feared he would wind up unable to keep his food down.

He felt twice relieved when conversation at last turned to the impending nuptials of Lucinda Hamilton and Commodore Norrington.  "We are to take our honeymoon in Paris," Lucinda was saying happily.  "Poor James has not been back to England since he arrived here as a lieutenant in the Royal Navy."

"Ahem, it is quite true," Norrington confessed, smiling at Lucinda.  "I shall have to rely upon my wife's guidance in reacquainting myself with all the finer things that Europe has to offer."  Will thought he did detect a fondness in the officer's manner toward Lucinda.  She was beautiful, to be sure, but now with Elizabeth in the seat next to her Will felt there was no comparison.  Elizabeth, with her darker skin, hair, and liquid eyes, gave off an aura of depth and complexity, even mystery.  Next to Elizabeth, Lucy Hamilton's pale features and dazzling smile were rather bloodless.

"Dear me," said Governor Swann, "our Commodore absent for nearly two months!  I shudder to think if the fort will still be standing by the time of his return!"

They all laughed on cue.  "Tell me, Commodore, how is the construction of my daughter's house coming?" came the already-much-reviled voice of Reginald Hamilton from two seats beyond Will.

"It is nearly complete, Sir Reginald," replied Norrington easily.  "All that remain are a few, shall we say, aesthetic touches," they all chuckled along with him again, "and my bride shall find a home of her own awaiting next Sunday."

"It's such a lovely thing," sighed Lucy.

"My dear girl, is it entirely proper for you to see it?" exclaimed a tall, matronly woman with an enormous feather in her hair from further down the table.

Norrington chuckled, "I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Fitzgerald, but I fear it was my doing.  Being an uncultured soldier all my life has its disadvantages, one of them being that I am quite unprepared to give direction in the construction of the type of house best suited to be the residence of a lady."

Lucy beamed, "And as it is to be my home, James has been very kind in allowing me to give some direction.  It's rather small, of course, but then a grand palace is hardly seemly for a colony."  They all laughed again.  "There are twelve guestrooms, each with its own fireplace.  Not that fireplaces are needed so desperately here in the Caribbean, as James informs me, but I simply could not become accustomed to living without a fireplace in the winter.  I wonder how my blood shall take to this climate!" She fanned herself expressively.  "And there are forty windows—very great windows, to let in the breezes in the summer, and a splendid verandah."

Somewhere in the long description, a very cold knot seemed to settle in Will's insides.  Everyone else at the table, Elizabeth included, was listening to Lucy with attentive curiosity, even envy for the young bride about to move into her own home.  _"It's rather small, of course…"_

How long would it be before Will could afford to build Elizabeth _any sort of house?  Let along one with, what was it?  Twelve guestrooms?  His practical side knew that Elizabeth would not think twice about lacking such things, but here and now, seated in this room of glittering splendor listening to this conversation of all that Lucy Hamilton's fiancé was giving to her, he felt ill.  _I'm a madman.  How could I hope to offer Elizabeth anything that even begins to amount to what she deserves, what she has a right to?  How can I possibly live up to what is expected for her?__

The object of his tormented thoughts was staring fixedly at him.  Will found himself suddenly looking directly into Elizabeth's anxious eyes across the table.  His face must have betrayed him, and he cursed himself for giving her cause for alarm.  He dropped his eyes to his plate, in time to hear Norrington say, "And thus, we've only three days remaining before all these mad formalities are complete."

"And it cannot be soon enough for you, eh, Norrington?  Eager to settle down to wedded bliss?"

"I confess, Lord Henry, and I can only hope that Lucinda shares my anticipation," replied Norrington, smiling at Lucy in a way that confirmed Will's suspicion that there was truly a bond between them.  Norrington had proposed less than three months ago, and already their wedding was upon them.

As Sir Reginald raised a toast to the happy couple, Lucy fondly took Norrington's hand, and Will felt a stab of intense physical pain at the sight of the diamond ring sparkling upon her finger.  He himself had proposed six months ago, but he had had no ring to give Elizabeth.  _I have **nothing** to give Elizabeth.  Across the table as more talk of wedding plans and wedding gifts floated around them, Elizabeth's brown eyes were huge as she stared at Will in dismay.  _

***      

As the meal mercifully wound to an end, Elizabeth was cursing herself.  She had been horribly selfish in cajoling Will into coming here tonight.  She knew being among the wealthy made him uneasy, even at her side, but she had asked him to come solely due to the fact that she would enjoy the affair more with him than without him.  And so she had all but bullied him into coming, without a thought for the consequences.  _Oh Will, I'm so sorry!_

When at last they'd finished the dessert and rose from the table, Elizabeth intended to fling formalities to the winds and go straight to Will's side.  It had been all she could do not to slide down in her chair as his face had gone steadily paler, and his expression more forced, throughout the meal.  But no sooner had she started around the table than she found herself blocked by the rather large obstacle of one Sir Reginald Hamilton.  "Are we to lose the pleasure of your company so soon, Miss Swann?" he asked in that voice that might have sounded silky to other women, but merely felt rather slimy to Elizabeth.

Feeling her heart beginning to race in desperation, she stammered, "I…no, of course not, Sir Reginald.  I am just…I must…forgive me," she gracelessly sidestepped around him, heading for Will's retreating back into the parlor.  _"Will!"_ she hissed, catching his arm.

He turned and looked at her with stormy eyes.  Desperately, she threw convention to the wind and drew him from that well-decorated viper pit across the hall into the darkened conservatory.  It was stuffy from being closed off, so Elizabeth pushed a window open and pulled him in front of it.  "Will, forgive me."

He looked at her in surprise.  "Why?" he asked in a flat voice.  "It's not you; it's me.  I'm worthless to you."  

Her stomach twisted at the bitterness in his voice.  "No, you mustn't think that--"

"Why not?" he whispered furiously, his eyes bright with emotion.  "What do I have to offer you in a marriage—other than a lifetime of poverty," he added in a bitter voice.

She could not stand to hear him speak so, and pressed a hand over his mouth.  "I want only what you offered me from the beginning.  Yourself, love.  You know that I want only you.  No, Will," she seized his hands when he started to protest.  "If James Norrington had offered me all the mansions and diamonds in Europe, I would still have chosen you."

Will sighed, and she raised a hand to his face, caressing his cheek gently.  He drew forward and let his forehead rest against hers.  After a long moment, he murmured, "I'm sorry.  I will succeed in this, Elizabeth."  She nearly gasped in relief to hear the determination return to his voice—the same determination that had once saved both their lives.  "No matter how much or how long I must work, I shall build you a house, and we shall marry."

Elizabeth's relief chose to manifest itself in the form of a hysterical giggle, and Will looked at her in confusion.  Unable to properly explain her mirth, she simply flung her arms around his neck.  "I love you," she sighed, managing to keep her voice serious.  "And I would gladly marry you now and live with you behind the smithy."

Will smiled hesitantly while searching her eyes, clearly trying to discern if she was joking.  As it happened, she wasn't, but then he grinned more broadly.  "I am sorry, my lady, but our wedding shall have to be postponed until I can afford to keep you in style."  His tone grew haughty, reminding her of Sir Reginald's, and she giggled.  "You shall have a mansion on a hill with fifteen guestrooms--"

"Only fifteen?" she asked coyly.  "My dear boy, that's far too small.  I demand twenty!"

"Very well, twenty it is," Will replied, pointing his nose upward and adopting an even snootier accent.  "There shall be four hundred windows and a bonfire in each room--" She nearly collapsed with laughter.  "And you shall have a diamond ring the size of a billiard ball!"

Gasping with laughter, she wiped her eyes and admitted, "I never truly cared much for diamonds.  It seems a lot of fuss for a stone that looks like cut glass."  She slid her arms around his waist, glad to see him in better spirits.  "And you may keep your twenty bedrooms and hundred windows.  I will be content with any house so long as it is ours.  And I don't need a ring."

He embraced her tightly, his voice muffled by her hair.  "Really?"

"Really."  They gazed out the window, the moon providing the only light into the room, and she turned her face toward his.  "Never doubt it, William Turner.  Whether you are a pirate or a blacksmith, I am yours, and you shall never be rid of me."

She felt him sigh against her.  "Then it appears I have no choice but to surrender."

A sudden rap on the conservatory door sent them leaping apart.  "Elizabeth!  Your father's looking for you!" hissed Lucy's voice from without.

Elizabeth sprang for the door, Will a step behind her, and a moment later Governor Weatherby Swann encountered his daughter, her unsuitable suitor, and Miss Lucinda Hamilton engaged in perfectly proper conversation admiring the chandelier above the staircase.

_To Be Continued…_

**_Coming Up Next:  _**_The Commodore ties the knot, we get introduced to a mysterious and beautiful sword…and the wedding reception ends in disaster for Will and Elizabeth._

**Don't Forget To Review!!**


	3. Chapter Two: The White Sword

**_Author's Notes:_**_  I am successfully moved onto the campus of Georgetown Law, complete with a finally-working internet connection!  You'll be glad to know that in the interim I've wound up several chapters ahead, so even when schoolwork hits hard, there should still be a few extra updates._

**_Also:_**_  I have decided to follow the example of many other fine authors in showing my appreciation for reviewers with individual responses.  See the following chapter for my thanks and reply to your reviews!_

**_Dedication:_**_  I have chosen to dedicate this fic to the fan whose wonderful website provided the information that inspired my muse:  ErinRua.  See next chapter for details!_

_Without further ado…_

**Chapter Two:  The White Sword**

_The following Sunday…_

If the lowly blacksmith had been surprised to find an ally in the eminent Commodore at dinner, he was nothing short of astonished when an invitation arrived to said Commodore's high society wedding.  At least this time, he had sufficient warning to make himself presentable.

Sunday afternoon found all of the Caribbean's elite in a glittering assembly at Port Royal's largest church.  Will was collected by one of the governor's carriages and could not help the dreams that filled his mind at the sight of the flowery church as he led Elizabeth to her family's section near the altar.  Judging by the way her father eyed Will, Swann was thinking the same thing—and finding the mental image far less pleasing than Will did.

Elizabeth excused herself after taking Will to their seats, for she was Lucinda Hamilton's bridesmaid.  Will occupied himself with stilted small talk with Swann and tried not to feel too envious of James Norrington as the Commodore hurried into the church with Lieutenant Gillette in tow and a full guard of honor from among his fellow officers.  It mollified Will to see the faintest signs of anxiety breaking through Norrington's proper bearing.  So even the implacable James Norrington was not completely immune to an attack of nerves on his wedding day.

_Bon voyage, Commodore, he thought, quashing a grin as the wedding march began to play._

Norrington straightened at the altar with Gillette at his side in front of Father Adam (head of the entire Caribbean parish) as Will turned with the other guests toward the back of the church.

Will's breath caught at the sight of Elizabeth, resplendent in a gown of glimmering peach silk trimmed with lace, leading the bridal party down the aisle lined with white roses (and saluting officers.)  He did not even notice the golden-haired Lucinda Hamilton in her flowing white gown upon her father's arm.  In his heart's eye, the bride in white was Elizabeth.

Her chocolate eyes met his as she drew closer, sending a shiver through him, and her lips twitched.  _Soon, her gaze seemed to say.  __Soon._

At the altar, Elizabeth accepted Lucinda's bouquet of white roses, and Will felt his heart racing in sympathy, and no small measure of jealousy, as the bride and groom made their vows.

_For richer for poorer…with this ring I thee wed… the words rang through his head and stabbed at his heart.  __When?!_

"You may kiss the bride, Commodore Norrington."

Norrington broke into the widest smile Will had ever seen on the man's face as he raised Lucinda's veil and kissed her with a sincerity that could not be denied.  Elizabeth's eyes were brimming as her friends sealed their union, but she was looking at Will again, and he felt his throat tighten.  As she followed the man and wife back down the aisle, she turned her face directly toward him and smiled like a promise.  _Soon…_

***

Elizabeth had not managed to tear herself away from the bride and groom by the time Will found her outside the church.  "Ah, there is your own dashing young man!" exclaimed Lucy as Will wove his way through the milling guests.

His eyes were bright, telling Elizabeth that watching a couple other than them wed today had only increased his determination to her as soon as possible._  Good!_

Their mutual feeling was unmistakable as she took his hand and squeezed it while kissing his cheek.  Feeling a bit breathless, she stepped back and said, "Come, Will, you've not yet congratulated the happy couple."

With bright eyes, Will turned to them.  "Commodore, Mrs. Norrington, my felicitations.  The best of luck to both of you."

It was a firm handshake that the Commodore gave Elizabeth's fiancé, and Will even went as far as to kiss Lucy's hand, making her giggle.  "I expect you two shall be next?"

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows playfully, giving Will the task of answering.  His reply was everything she could have hoped for: "God willing, as soon as possible."  It was all she could do not to hug herself and squeal with delight.

Norrington apparently noticed and smiled slightly.  "Well then, Mr. Turner, I am pleased to say I find wedded life agreeable thus far."  The laughter was genuine all around.

"Elizabeth," her father emerged from the crowd with Sir Reginald in tow.  "We must be on our way to prepare for the reception.  The cook needs a word with you before the other guests arrive."

She stiffened, for her father's intent was clear: to separate her from Will.  "Well, I…" she tightened her grip on Will's hand, trying to find an excuse.  After what had happened at dinner three days ago, she did not want to leave him alone.

But her father was more resolute than usual.  "_I_ also require a word concerning the dinner arrangements," Swann pressed, and his tone brooked no argument.

Will was silent at her side; her departure would leave him adrift in a sea of strangers until everyone had reached the governor's house for the reception.  Will did not even have a carriage.

This time it was Lucy who came to the rescue.  "Don't worry about abandoning your escort, Elizabeth."  She smoothly linked her free arm with Will's.  "I mean to claim him to accompany the wedding party to your father's house."  She beamed sweetly at them all.

Will blushed and looked at Elizabeth helplessly.  She could have kissed Lucy.  Grinning like a fool, she agreed, "That's settled then.  See you at dinner, Will.  Shall we go, Father?"  She felt far better about being summarily detached from her fiancé knowing she was leaving him in the new Mrs. Norrington's hands.  Lucinda might be young and a touch flighty, but she was a hopeless romantic, and thus found Elizabeth's decision to marry an orphaned tradesman with scandalous lineage positively delectable.  So Elizabeth went with her father, leaving Will bound to the wedding party by the determined arm of the bride.

In the carriage home, she knew her father's silent, sidelong glances did not bode well.  "What?" she asked crossly.

"I do hope I may expect you to behave with propriety tonight, Elizabeth."

Fighting the urge to sigh, she answered, "I hope I will never do anything that might reflect badly on you, Father.  Were you speaking of particulars?"

Weatherby Swann eyed his daughter before saying hesitantly, "You have been rather…dismissive of Sir Reginald these past few days."

An uncomfortable silence followed, the same silence she tended to lapse into when Reginald Hamilton became the subject of conversation.  "I'm sorry to hear my manner offended.  It was unconsciously done, I assure you.  Am I to assume you feel I should be…" she trailed off delicately.

Her father finally faced her directly.  "I do understand that Reginald is considerably older than you, Elizabeth, but he is a good man, highly-respected, and very influential upon the future of this colony."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to calm the storm that had begun to rage inside her.  But she allowed a note of warning to creep into her voice.  "Just what are you suggesting?"

Weatherby's hand came to rest upon her shoulder.  She sat as still as stone.  "Elizabeth, I know you care very deeply for young Turner, and he is a fine boy.  But…there are times when we cannot have everything our heart desires when practicality dictates another choice--" White hot fury erupted in her chest, twisting her insides, and she wrenched herself as far away from him as the carriage seats would allow.  "Darling, don't!"

Unable to keep her voice from shaking, she whispered, "You would have me break my engagement to the man I _love_ in favor of--"

"No!" her father protested, seizing her hand. 

"Then what are you suggesting?!" she demanded.

"Elizabeth…" she furiously turned her face toward the window.  Her father sighed heavily, only increasing her aggravation.  "I would never force you to marry against your wishes."  He touched her shoulder again, and she bit her lip, fighting the lump that was growing in her throat.  Why couldn't he understand?  "I only want you to…consider…another path that might well end in your happiness!"

Swallowing hard, she told him quietly, "Father, no path, no matter how green and easy, will lead to my happiness without Will.  I know you wish me to choose a man of similar means to you, but that cannot be.  Will has means and works hard; I will never be destitute.  He would not allow it."

"Darling, Sir Reginald is quite…interested in you."  Her father's tone became cajoling.  "Would you not at least consider him?  For me?"

She turned around and looked at him again.  "How can you ask me to consider a man when I am already engaged?"

Now Weatherby looked impatient.  "I know you promised yourself to him, but it has been six months and still no date is set.  Listen to me!"  He caught her shoulder when she would have turned away again.  "Who knows how long it will be before Will Turner has amassed the funds to give you a home?"

"I'll wait!  I do not care how long!"

"But I do!" her father pleaded.  "Elizabeth…I cannot pretend to be a young man, and life in the Caribbean is difficult even for men of means.  We have no other family here, and the thought that I might…leave you alone without a man to look after you fills me with dread.  When you are young it seems that you have all the time in the world, but darling, I do not."

Elizabeth bit her lip.  She had not considered that part of her father's point of view.  He had always been so protective…she covered his hand with hers.  "Will and I will marry, Father.  Soon.  And we will have a house, even if it is not so grand is James and Lucy's.  There may be certain comforts I shall have to do without, but I will never lack for anything I need."

Her father sighed again, and smiled, shaking his head in resignation.  "By heaven, you are as stubborn as you mother."  She smiled back, sensing the debate was over.  "But Elizabeth, promise me one thing…at least be nice to Sir Reginald.  As I said, he is an influential man, and he does like you.  I suspect you remind him of the late Lady Emiline."

With a little roll of her eyes, she said, "Very well, Father, I promise.  I shall be sweet as honey to the poor widower, so long as you understand that no matter how hard he competes for my heart, he shall not have it."

"You are hopeless."

"And glad to be so."

***

Will found that spending the next hour in the sole company of Commodore and Mrs. Norrington was far less awkward than he had feared.  For some unfathomable reason, Lucinda Norrington highly approved of his match to Elizabeth, and was sparing no pains to foster them.  Perhaps she was the reason for Commodore Norrington's apparent change of heart—not that Norrington had ever been openly unfriendly to Will, but there had been a certain reserve in the officer's dealings with the smith until recently.  

All in all, standing ceremony while the bride and groom saw well-wishers outside the church might have been almost enjoyable, were it not for the presence of one Reginald Hamilton.  Lucinda's father remained as aloof as ever, receiving wedding guests graciously, but Will could feel the man's cold, calculating gaze on him the entire time.  It made his skin crawl.  

But even the tacit disapproval of her father was not enough to prevent Lucinda Norrington from keeping her promise to Elizabeth to bring Will with them.  "We must be off to the reception.  Governor Swann will be waiting, and I've no doubt dear Elizabeth is anxious to be reunited with you, Mr. Turner," she said sweetly as the carriages arrived.  "You're to ride with us."

"Indeed," said Sir Reginald stepping deftly behind his daughter and son-in-law and leaving Will to bring up the rear.  "It would hardly be charitable to force Port Royal's most renowned smith to walk all the way to the reception."

Hearing chuckles from the nearest wedding guests, Will simply gritted his teeth.  Everything would be fine once he rejoined Elizabeth.

Or so he thought.  He had been prepared for many things arriving at the governor's mansion with the wedding party, but not the way Elizabeth smiled when Sir Reginald kissed her hand at the door.  A look of triumph flashed through the older man's eyes, and he offered Elizabeth his arm, despite Will's presence directly behind him.  Laughing, she said, "Now, now, Sir Reginald, that would hardly be politic in front of my escort.  Do come in and enjoy yourself."  _Politic?!  _She slid neatly past him to take Will's arm, but Will barely heard her greeting to him.  The gauntlet had been thrown down, that much was certain.  Elizabeth, as hostess, was frequently called away by servants to oversee some detail of the reception, and every time, no sooner would she depart a room than Reginald Hamilton launched his thinly-veiled attacks, aiming to humiliate Will as much as possible in the short time before dinner.

"Tell me, my dear Lucy, is there to be dancing tonight?"

"I'm afraid not, Father, the governor's hall is not large enough.  But I do not think James minds; it seems officers are not always accustomed to dancing."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Commodore.  Then again, I suppose it is just as well, for it would be shameful if our hostess were unable to join the festivities.  I doubt many blacksmiths in Port Royal could comport themselves well in a dance!"  

Will kept his eyes fixed upon his glass of wine as laughter burned his ears.  Then Elizabeth came back and the open barbs ceased, although the whispers and stifled sniggers seemed very loud.  "My congratulations, Miss Swann, you have hosted this affair exquisitely!"

Elizabeth laughed and accepted yet another kiss on the hand from the hated Englishman.  "You flatter me, Sir Reginald, for dinner is not even served yet."

"Oh, Miss Elizabeth?  Mr. George needs a word with you."

"Thank you, Mary.  I shan't be a moment," as soon as she left again, Will steeled himself.

"I say, Lord Henry, you arrived a bit late.  Did your carriage run into trouble?"

"I fear so, Sir Reginald.  One of the horses lost a shoe climbing the hill."

"Oh, sorry to hear that.  Perhaps Turner may yet prove useful!"  (More laughter.)

Governor Swann was no help, but Lucinda at last distracted her father by catching his arm and leading him to talk with Admiral Kensington.  However, the discussion soon turned to swords.  "That's a handsome weapon, Admiral.  Am I to assume it was made by the island's foremost authority on the subject?"

"I fear not, Sir Reginald, though Mr. Turner's skill is renowned in these parts.  This sword belonged to my father, General Thomas Kensington, II."  Kensington lifted the weapon for the inspection of the other men, and Will eyed it from a distance.  It was well-crafted to be sure, its handle trimmed with gold filigree and its sheath inlaid with pounded gold.  _Must require a lot of polishing, he thought idly._

"Ah!  An heirloom!  The best swords are the oldest, I've always thought.  In fact…perhaps I might show you mine," said Hamilton speculatively.  "It's been in my family for generations, our pride and joy for every eldest son.  I have never been a soldier, but I do think it a rather fine blade."

"Well, then, bring it in, by heaven, Hamilton!" said Lord Henry Hastings boisterously.  "Let's see the thing, and we'll get the blacksmith to judge its quality."  The men all laughed uproariously as Hamilton cheerfully sent a manservant out.

Will managed not to wince as Sir Reginald's attention turned to him again.  "I'm rather eager to hear the boy's opinion of my sword.  If I do say so myself…I think it may be judged one of a kind.  Ah, thank you, Hudson," he took a long box from the servant.  "Now, then…behold and see for yourselves."

The box opened, and jaws dropped upon every face that had an unblocked view.  Will leaned forward with the others, curious in spite of himself, as Hamilton lifted the sword out for all to see.  Then he gasped along with the others.

The sword that was the pride of Hamilton line was white.  Its blade, invisible as yet, was housed by a sheath inlaid entirely with mother-of-pearl.  The handle, in a feat of artistry Will could not imagine attempting, was silver filigree, thick and set with more mother-of-pearl carved to fit its twists exactly.  The weapon glowed in the light of the lanterns, the mother-of-pearl's soft luster reflecting in the eyes of every person in the room.  Hamilton drew the blade; it was keen, balanced, and perfect, as Will had known it would be.  No artisan would put so much effort into the decoration of a sword while sacrificing one iota of its functionality.  He had no doubt that such a weapon would be formidable in a duel, even without the factor of intimidation that any foe would have in facing a man bearing something so dazzling.

"Well, Turner?  Care to give us your professional opinion?" demanded Admiral Kensington, and imperiously beckoned Will forward.

Will was so entranced by the sword that he was hardly embarrassed under the eyes of all the gentry in the room as he went to where the men stood.  Hamilton condescendingly placed the sword in his hands, and Will bit the inside of his mouth hard to keep from gasping aloud.  The pearl set into the filigree was so perfectly cut that even close up, it looked as if the silver and nacre had been grown together in some magical garden.  Not a seam showed where the pieces of mother-of-pearl had been placed into the scabbard's silver setting, and white light rippled up and down its length.  How many months, _years must it have taken to find the shells that bore such perfect nacre, to carve the mother-of-pearl into the proper shapes and thicknesses, to shape the silver filigree and silver scabbard to receive the nacre, to mount the blade into the hilt…_

"Come, come, Turner, you've stared at the thing for five minutes!  What thoughts have you?" demanded Lord Henry.

Will had too much honesty, and too much awe, to say anything other than the truth.  Not taking his eyes from the smooth perfection that lay across his rough hands, he said softly, "I cannot begin to imagine the skill it must have taken to create such a weapon.  Never in my life have I seen a finer sword."

Soft murmurs of approval rippled through the room, and Hamilton pompously held out his own hands for the sword.  Will felt more reluctance than he cared to admit to give it back, especially when he saw the smirk Sir Reginald was giving him.  _How can a man like that be worthy of a sword like this? he thought bitterly as Hamilton sheathed it and mounted it on his belt, to the playful applause of all present._

"Perhaps you should have drawn it for the blessing of Norrington and your daughter today, eh, Hamilton?  Or maybe gifted it to your son-in-law?"

"Don't think the thought didn't occur to me, Thomas.  Perhaps I'll have use for it someday soon at my own wedding."

"Ah, planning to marry again, are we?"

Hamilton sighed in a theatric show of grief.  "I shall never get over the loss of Emiline, but I fear a second marriage is necessary.  Our family tradition is that the white sword is passed onto the firstborn son, and I have no male heir, not that I ever reproached Emiline for it.  But now, perhaps, I shall find another fair lady to partner me in life, and we shall raise a son who shall bear the white sword."

"Hear hear!" lauded Admiral Kensington, and spontaneously raised his glass to Hamilton.  Hamilton laughingly joined the toast, but his eyes met Will's over the rim of the goblet in a challenge that was unmistakable.

When Elizabeth came back and announced that dinner was served, it ended any hope Will had of speaking to her alone for a few minutes.  Not that he saw any point in acquainting her with Sir Reginald's activities, but it would have done wonders for his frayed nerves just to get away from the claws and teeth of this crowd.  But there was no chance of that as they all filed into the dining room, and Will clenched his fists in fury when Sir Reginald abruptly stepped in front of him to pull out Elizabeth's chair for her.  She thanked him, not batting an eye at the insult to her fiancé.  What her eyes did fall upon was the gleaming work of art at Hamilton's hip.

"Goodness, Sir Reginald!  What a beautiful sword!"

"Do you like it, Miss Swann?  Oh, how silly of me; you were not present when I brought it out to show.  It's a family heirloom, one of our most prized.  Would you care to hold it, my dear?"

"Oh, may I?"

So Will was left standing stupidly as Reginald Hamilton took his place in seating Elizabeth, and feeling even worse as she gasped admiration for his magnificent weapon.  As Hamilton placed the sword into her small hands, to her further praise at how light it was, Will turned away and managed to find his seat.

***

_That presumptuous scoundrel!  How dare he!  Elizabeth worked very hard to live up to her promise to her father to "be nice" to Sir Reginald Common-Cad-In-An-Expensive-Suit Hamilton, but it was not long before her smiles became rather toothy from the clenching of her jaw, and the false laughs she gave sounded obscene in her ears.  When Hamilton usurped Will's place as her escort as they sat down, she very nearly succumbed to the temptation to make a scene, for it was clear to her that Hamilton not only intended to perform Will's escorting duty, but to take his seat as well.  In desperation, Elizabeth adopted her sweetest tone and managed to forestall him with a few shallow words of flattery for his sword so her fiancé had a chance to reach his seat across from her.  __Reginald Hamilton  is not worthy of a sword so beautiful, she thought spitefully, imagining the weapon in Will's hands.  __Will would appreciate it.  For all his work and care of swords, Will is far more deserving of it.  She forced herself not to shove the thing back at Hamilton once Will had found his seat, but instead babbled out a few more admiring words as she handed the weapon back to him._

Will's eyes were dark and his jaw clenched with anger.  Elizabeth tried to catch his eye, but he was staring fixedly at the tablecloth.  _It will all be over soon, Will.  Just get through tonight, and I promise never to bring you into that boorish creature's presence again._  She was astonished at the depth of her own ire for Hamilton.  When dinner was over she fully intended to inform her father that under no circumstances would she _ever_ be nice to that louse again.  _The sooner he is sailing back to the pleasures of the British mainland the better!  If only Lucy and James would take him with them on their honeymoon._

Will was completely silent all through dinner, and seldom looked up even at her.  She could only imagine what vicious mischief Hamilton had got up to at her fiancé's expense when she had been otherwise occupied.  Come to think of it, there had been so many servant mishaps requiring her attention that she was halfway to wondering if her father had somehow orchestrated this…but no.  Her father knew her heart, even if he was not happy with her choice.  And he would not resort to the kind of cruelty that involved driving away her fiancé by repeated humiliation.  More than likely it was all Hamilton, a probability that made her despise the man even more.

Then of course, there was the endless stream of blatant flattery.

"Miss Swann, you made a most radiant bridesmaid to my daughter today.  I was quite overcome."  "My most admiring compliments to you, Miss Swann, for this marvelous dinner."  "It is amazing, my dear Weatherby, that you managed to raise such an angel without the aid of your wife."

Throughout the disgusting exhibition, most of the rest of "polite" society smiled blissfully while Elizabeth seethed and knew Will was stinging.  She was almost relieved when Hamilton finally overreached, going from sweet talk to an unmistakable social gaffe during dessert.

"You are truly such a vision, Miss Swann," Hamilton oozed.  "How is that your father has not yet found a suitable young man for you?"

Will went rigid.  Elizabeth nearly choked on a piece of wedding cake.  Norrington's eyes narrowed, and Lucy's were as wide as saucers.  The table was silent, heads swiveled from Hamilton to Will to Elizabeth, and even her father glared.  Elizabeth folded her hands beneath the tablecloth to hide the way they were shaking.  As Mrs. Fitzgerald attempted to salvage conversation by launching into a story of her son's recent marriage to the daughter of a French duke in Europe, Elizabeth managed to calm herself by wringing her napkin in her lap and imagining it as Hamilton's neck.

When dinner mercifully ended, the bride and groom were toasted until several of the guests were intoxicated, and at last Commodore and Mrs. Norrington were on their way to their new house, where they would spend their wedding night before departing in the morning for Paris.  Elizabeth practically ran away from Hamilton when she spotted him looking in her direction, and managed to avoid him for the moment by seizing her father's sleeve.  Moving her lips close to his ear, she whispered, "I expect you to have a word with him."

He squeezed her hand gently and said, "Don't worry, my dear.  I intend to have several.  Reginald?  A moment, if you please!"

Satisfied, Elizabeth headed for the parlor where Will was waiting, only to have George hurry over to her.  "I beg your pardon, Miss, but Mary needs a word with you."

Her temper nearly boiled over.  "Oh, for heaven's sake!" Forcing herself to breathe, she said stiffly, "Fine.  Where is she?" and stalked after the manservant.

***

By God, Will wanted to get out of there.  While Hamilton's remark about "suitable" young men had been in bad social taste at a wedding in front of the lady in question, it was painfully clear to him that none of the guests had been the least bit moved on his behalf.  Judging by the continued whispers and stifled laughter, most of them had found the whole thing rather amusing.

"I cannot imagine what Weatherby is thinking.  I would have sent that boy packing if he'd come within a hundred feet of one of my girls."

"Well, things are looking up, Belinda.  With Hamilton in the picture, I'd say that boy's days as Miss Swann's suitor are numbered."

"Thank God.  Dear Reginald has always been such a generous man.  I shouldn't be surprised if poor Weatherby sent for him in desperation."

"Quite possible, Mrs. Fitzgerald.  And I hardly think Reginald would stint the girl.  If he comes here, he'll be by far the wealthiest man in Jamaica, one of the most influential in the Caribbean.  Could mean great things for the colonies."

"I do hope you're right, Lord Henry.  It's a shame you haven't got a mind to settle down in Jamaica.  I daresay you could accomplish a few things."

"Your faith in me is flattering, my dear Lady Pittworth, but the Caribbean climate has never agreed with me for any length of time.  Besides, I'd be no match against Reginald for the fair Elizabeth's hand."

"Hah!  You're quite the wit, Henry.  Fortunately, neither is the boy.  What woman wouldn't be smitten by a suitor like Reginald?  Aged very well, he has, and as spry as in his youth.  He gave the world to poor dear Emiline right until she died.  He'd do the same for Swann's daughter, no mistake.  If there's one thing about him, he's always had a gift with women."

Will slowly put down his wine glass, afraid that he'd clench his fist and inadvertently break it.  These people thought badly enough of him as it was.  He relinquished his place by the window and began moving cautiously toward the parlor door, desperate to escape the room no matter what the consequences.  Elizabeth was in the house somewhere.  He had to find her before he went mad.

The parlor doors were partly ajar, and he forced himself to ignore the sniggers of the other guests at his passage.  But before he could escape, voices from just beyond the doors stopped him cold.

"It was rather crass of you, Reginald."

"Oh, honestly, Weatherby, you can't possibly be that concerned for some errand boy's feelings."

"I was more concerned for my daughter losing face.  No, the boy's not suitable for her, but there's no need to announce it before a roomful of guests in her house--"

"—Of course, of course, you're right, Weatherby.  My apologies; I daresay my mouth got ahead of my mind.  But I do wonder what possessed you to give a blacksmith permission to court your daughter."

(Sigh) "I wonder the same thing everyday, Reginald, but the fact is, Elizabeth was as determined as he.  He was a dear friend to her in their youth but…I am at my wits end.  She's a willful young woman."

"All the same, Weatherby, you're her father, and it's really more your decision.  You ought to have put your foot down.  I mean," Hamilton's voice, ringing clear and devastating through the half-open door into the parlor for all to hear, took on a shrewd tone, "what are you to do if, shall we say, someone more…appropriate were to come along who wished to seek Elizabeth's hand?"

"Oh?  Well…I suppose it would depend on whether I knew the man to be…respectable.  Even some wealthy men are unsuitable," Swann's voice was speculative, and equally sly.

"Hmm.  Suppose, Weatherby, just suppose that a man came along whose daughter had been a friend of Miss Swann's for years.  And suppose when that man, once introduced to Miss Swann, was overcome by her beauty and poise but…the only real obstacle would be this supposed 'engagement' to an orphaned tradesman with a suspect lineage?  What would a sensible father do?"

All other conversation in the parlor had ceased, but Will was not even aware of the stares.  His heart was in his throat, waiting for Swann's reply.  

There was an agonizing silence.  "Under such circumstances…I think a sensible father would grant the more suitable man permission to vie for his daughter's hand.  It might not be wise to forcibly end her engagement to the unsuitable one—he had given his word, after all—but if she were to develop a liking for this family friend and end the engagement herself…what's to be lost?"

Hamilton chuckled.  "I correct myself, Weatherby.  You may be a most sensible father.  What do you say?  Would you permit me to strive for the heart of your fair daughter against the wiles of that ironworker, despite his claim of being her fiancé?"

Another chuckle rang out.  "My dear Reginald, you have my permission and blessing.  I suppose some might consider it a small social gaffe to go back on my word to Turner, but…the fact is, I've never truly considered them legitimately engaged.  Don't mistake me, Turner's…well…he's a decent lad, but after all, he didn't even give her a ring."

There was a rustle of fine linen that betrayed a firm handshake.  "In that case, good sir, I shall trespass a little longer on your hospitality while wooing your most challenging daughter."

"You are welcome, Sir Reginald.  And may the best man win."

Every eye in the room was on Will, and blood rushed to his face.  Whether there was any more whispering or laughing going on, he could not be sure, thanks to the roaring in his ears.  For a few moments he could only stand, stock-still like a fool, in a roomful of enemies as Weatherby Swann's casually devastating words rang again and again in his head.  Then it struck him in a rush of nausea that at any moment, Swann and Hamilton would be strolling through those doors like two cats who had successfully disposed of a mouse, and enjoy great humor at Will's expense.  He wanted none of it.  

Ignoring the fact that it wasn't exactly polite, he spun around and pushed toward the parlor's side doors leading into the dining room, walking as fast as he could.  He no longer cared to keep up a front before these people; they knew him for what he was and enjoyed stripping him bare of pretensions and cutting him with their scorn.  And his lack of stature had just allowed Weatherby Swann to commit what would have been an unforgivable breach of honor, had Will been a wealthier man.  Allowing someone to court his daughter after giving permission for her to marry another?  Swann would pay dearly for such a slight if Will had been his social equal.  Why should he make the effort to behave like the polite society they weren't?  He pushed open the dining room door and hurried through, unable to close it fast enough to completely shut out the gale of laughter.  He shoved the door closed and rested his forehead against it.

Now that Reginald Hamilton was openly competing with him for Elizabeth, with her father's blessing to boot, what chance _did_ he have?  With no more prying eyes present, he released the massive shudder that he had been holding in for so long.  Turning slowly, he headed for the door that led to the foyer.  He had to find Elizabeth and tell her.  He had to hear from her lips that she would not be stolen away by her father's handsome and wealthy friend.  His sensible side, the one that would normally tell him it wasn't possible and count all the ways she had shown her love in the past two years, had vanished under the barrage of insults.  He had to see Elizabeth.

Giving himself a little shake, he reached the door and quietly opened it, but faltered.  He could hear Hamilton still out there, and someone was coming down the stairs.  He peered around the dining room door surreptitiously, watching for Hamilton to leave.

***

As Mary continued fluttering over inconsequential details about the arrangements for the remaining guests, Elizabeth wanted to scream.  "No, Mary, I told you, Mrs. Fitzgerald cannot climb stairs.  Lady Pittworth is staying in the blue room."

"But Miss, what about Lord Henry--"

"He's not staying here; he is staying at Admiral Kensington's house."

Mary looked at the guest list in confusion.  "Oh.  Sorry, Miss.  I got a bit mixed up."

Elizabeth sighed.  "If there are any more problems, I will deal with them later.  Right now, I'm neglecting my guests."  She all but ran back down the stairs.

Unfortunately, she was forestalled in the foyer by the absolute last person she wanted to see.  Forcing her face into that false smile, and her voice into an odd lilt that made her sound like Lucy, she asked, "Sir Reginald?  Were you looking for something?"

"I was, my dear, and now I have found her."  Hamilton moved very close to her, and she froze.  His attitude was _very_ forward.

Taking a cautious step back, she inquired, "Was there something you wanted?"

"Ahem," straightening, but not losing the mischief in his gray eyes, Hamilton said, "Your father bade me inform you that I'm to stay another fortnight.  I do hope your hospitality is not overburdened terribly, my _dear_ Miss Swann."

_My very sanity is overburdened by the thought of you being here even one more night!  She thought furiously.  But to his face, she forced another smile and cooed, hating herself, "No indeed, I am quite certain we shall enjoy your company.  Er…although I fear England will miss you terribly."  _Come on, Elizabeth, surely you can do better than that!__

Suddenly Hamilton was directly in front of her, his head bent towards hers, speaking in a husky voice.  "I fear England may be deprived of my company forever, Miss Swann.  I find that I cannot bear the thought of being deprived of _your company."_

Her throat closed up in full-fledged panic as he took both her hands in a viselike grip.  Her eyes were wide and her mouth frozen in that stupid smile, but no sound would come from her throat.  _Dear God, get him away from me!_

But Hamilton went on, "I am a determined man, Miss Swann, especially in the pursuit of any object I truly desire."  The white sword gleamed upon his hip.  "So though I may seem abrupt, I can do nothing but declare openly my intention of striving for your affection, and beg you to consider yourself my suitor."  Apparently, he took her trembling as some sign of pleasure rather than disgust, and smiled, "You are a woman of spirit, Elizabeth, and fine quality.  You would grace the courts of England, France, and Spain.  There is a great, beautiful world beyond this wretched little fishing town that I would gladly show you, if you would allow me.  I cannot bear to think of you being denied any pleasure in life that you deserve.  Upon my word, and my sword, I shall see that you have everything you desire."

***

If the sturdy dining room door had not held his weight, Will Turner might well have slid to the ground.  It was Elizabeth who had come down the stairs, to be met and promptly swept away by the dashing, wealthy, and "suitable" Reginald Hamilton.  She was still smiling, her eyes wide and dazzled by the handsome nobleman, listening to his promises of wealth and adventure—the sort of things Will Turner, the blacksmith, could never hope to offer her.  

_Of course, not, you bloody, senseless fool, why shouldn't she be dazzled?!  Why did you ever think you could compete with men like James Norrington or Reginald Hamilton, or that you even had the right to?  Elizabeth deserves more than you can ever dream of giving her!_

His stomach lurched, and he stumbled back a few steps from the door.  This could not be happening.  Not after all that had transpired in the past two years, the battles at sea with the Black Pearl, the treacherous Barbossa, the brassy Jack Sparrow, and the promises they had made once it was all over.  He had saved her life and she his.  She had chosen him and he had sworn to make himself worthy of it.  He had slaved in the smithy, working himself to exhaustion to earn the funds that would one day build their house.  Only today they had watched each other as two friends exchanged wedding vows, in their hearts a solemn promise that their own vows should soon follow.

_This cannot be happening!_

The sound of Elizabeth's laughter floated through the still-cracked door, and Will lurched forward, all propriety having fled him, to hear what she said.  "I…really, Sir Reginald, you are far too hasty!" her laughter had a lilting, almost giddy tone.  She never laughed that way with Will.  "We met less than a week ago and already you talk of courting me!"

"My dear child--"

"_Do_ try to calm yourself, sir!" she laughed again.  "I must see to my guests.  Please pardon me."  With that the door to the parlor opened and closed, once, twice.  The foyer was silent.

Will balled his fists against his forehead as he leaned against the dining room door.  _She was laughing!_  She was delighted.  All those things she would have had to give up for Will were now offered on a silver platter by a handsome, wealthy man who owned a sword whose like all Will's abilities could never hope to produce.  Why shouldn't she be thrilled?

He could not stay here a moment longer.  That he knew.  Opening the door wider, his heart pounded even harder as he peered into the foyer.  Empty.  The thought of meeting a single soul made him sick with revulsion.  His grief was too intense to be viewed by any human eyes.  In a few frantic, faltering strides he crossed the foyer, gained the front door and threw it open, fleeing out into the night.

He had no idea what time it was when he arrived at home.  Moreover, he found himself standing in front of the door of the smithy with the moon high above and no idea how he had gotten there.  With fumbling hands, he pushed the door open and stumbled inside.

_Right where I left you…_since attaining his mastery, coming home to the smithy, with all his tools and equipment in their places, the iron and steel waiting to be shaped into swords and trappings, had always been a source of pleasure.  His shop, his work.  His craft.  His.  But now, the sight of it sickened him.  "Care and devotion," Commodore Norrington had said of his work in his craft, but over the past two years, blacksmithing had become the means to an end.  Elizabeth.  For her, for their marriage.

He wandered past the forge in a daze, back to his rooms.  What was left here for him now?  Only a lifetime of backbreaking work at a craft that had suddenly become repugnant for the bitter associations it held for him.  _Swords.  Swords for Norrington, swords for Swann.  I suppose Hamilton will insist on bringing that white sword of his here for me to service, so that he may gloat over all the beautiful things his wealth and prestige has bought._

The thought inevitably developed into a hideous distortion of today's wedding, in which the bride in white was Elizabeth…but the man waiting joyfully upon the altar…His stomach lurched, and he leapt for the wash basin in time to be sick, his emotions so wildly out of control that the room spun around him.  

William Turner had not shed a tear since the day his ship had vanished into the Atlantic Ocean after their ship had been attacked during the crossing to the Caribbean.  He had been a child, sobbing in fear as the smaller vessel broke up under the Black Pearl's fire, but his grief and fear had been ended abruptly by the necessity to struggle for survival in the water.  He had never wept again.

Nor did he now.  Instead, Will clung helplessly to the washbasin just as he had clung to a floating piece of the wrecked ship, feeling very much like a child tossed on wild seas, watching once again as the only thing in the world he loved was pulled forever out of his reach.  At last, his stomach was empty again, and he staggered to his feet, disoriented and confused.  His small bed rested against the wall, and he stumbled over to fall into it, feeling no more strength to stand.  He lay limp, staring at the ceiling, his breath coming in gasps of shock and anguish.  _Elizabeth!  Elizabeth!  Why?!_  Was there anything beautiful or precious in life that would not be snatched away from him by his poor origins?  Was there are joy in the world for a man forced by circumstance to work for his living?  Would he live out his days here in Port Royal, making horse shoes and swords and looking up at the cliffs to the mansion of Sir Reginald and Lady Elizabeth Hamilton?

_God, no, I would rather throw myself from those cliffs!_

What could he do now?  The thought of just being here waiting until that inevitable day, tomorrow or the next or the next, when Elizabeth would come quietly to the door to tell him their engagement and their love was over, made his chest throb.  But what else was there for him, a lowly blacksmith?  Where could he go to escape Port Royal and all its bitter memories, with what little money he had?

_And where could I go where gossip wouldn't follow me?  A mysterious arrival in some port town or merchant ship, with nothing but clothes and tools?  _Talk would follow, and soon the truth would come:_ "He's an orphaned tradesman who tried to court a woman above himself and ran away when she chose someone of her station, someone who wasn't a poor smith who chummed about with pirates--"_

Pirates…

He still had not shed a tear, but he lay red-eyed and tired upon the bed, his mind wandering.  _I wonder…where could Jack be now?_

What would Jack say if he heard about all of this?  Will's first thought was that Jack would laugh at him, but then…perhaps not.  What had Jack been up to for the past two years?  He and Eliz—he had kept his ears open when at the docks, and other than a few random sightings of the Black Pearl, Jack Sparrow had not been making himself terribly notorious in the Caribbean.  Which was rather unlike him.

Jack Sparrow.  Will's mind latched onto the name like a piece of driftwood on a sea of misery.  Elizabeth might have deserted him because of his poverty and scandalous background, but Jack…

_ "You can accept that your father was a pirate and a good man…"_

Jack had known what Will Turner was even before Will himself had.  Jack Sparrow figured out far more than anyone (including Will, in the beginning) gave him credit for.  But Jack hadn't looked down on Will, and not because he was a pirate himself.  _A pirate and a good man…_

_ "The pirate's in your blood, boy, so you'll have to square with that one day."_

Will blinked tired eyes at the window across the room, seeing only the outer wall of the store next to him.  _What sort of pirate would I be?_ The thought caused a hysterical little laugh to burst out of him.  No, perhaps he never was and never would be a good pirate.  He'd retained too many scruples even during the adventure with Jack.  But on the other hand…Jack Sparrow had never judged him.  Perhaps Jack might just be the place to start in the search for answers.  Will could both fight and sail and navigate; he could pull his weight for a short time if he found the Black Pearl.  Jack might have a few words of advice for him.

_For a price, of course, but what else is new?  Who doesn't?_

His head was heavy, and his eyes drooped closed.  Between grieving, raging, and thinking, his mind was simply too tired to work anymore.  He knew one thing; he could not wait around here to receive nothing but Elizabeth and Sir Reginald's engagement notice.  There was nothing left for him in Port Royal.

But perhaps he might find something else, something different…on the Caribbean.

***

_Back at the reception, earlier…_

"Where in heaven's name is my fiancé?" Elizabeth whispered to her father at the first chance she got.

Weatherby glanced around curiously as if only then noticing Will's absence.  "I don't rightly know, Elizabeth."

"Oh, the lad left, Miss Swann," chuckled Lord Henry.

Elizabeth stared at him in disbelief, as nearby conversations went quiet.  "Left?!"

"That he did, Miss.  I believe…" Lord Henry smiled and shrugged patronizingly.  "I believe there was some urgent blacksmithing matter that required his attention."

Elizabeth felt a little flare of anger at the sniggers from the other guests.  She had wanted to talk to Will, aware that these vipers had been laughing at him all night, thanks to that disgustingly forward Hamilton.  Her next intention after seeing to Will had been to demand that her father throw Hamilton out for such a presumption.  Really!  Will might be a tradesman, but one _did not_ make advances towards a woman who was engaged to another man, no matter what one's wealth or breeding.  She intended to make Governor Swann dismiss Hamilton from their house for such an inexcusable breach of etiquette.  Only her desire not to make a scene prevented her from doing so in front of the guests.

But now Will had disappeared.  She highly doubted there was some emergency at his shop at this hour.  How would he have heard of it?  More likely he simply had not been able to stand this poisonous company any longer and had fled.  Odd, it was not like Will to retreat, especially where Elizabeth and their intended marriage was concerned.  _Dear Lord, what have these gossips been saying to him?_  She was upset with him for going without telling her, but more than anything feared just what might have been done to orchestrate this precipitous departure.

Her father saw her eyeing the door.  "My dear, you cannot desert your guests now," he murmured.

"Father, what did they say to him?" she whispered frantically.

"I don't know, but it will keep until morning.  The boy will have gone home, and you can make him account for his actions tomorrow.  Right now, we must see to our company."

She sighed.  "Very well, but I want a word with you before you retire."

"Of course."

As it happened, the reception did eventually end, to her relief, but by the time she had seen everyone off and seen the houseguests to their rooms, her father had forgotten his promise and gone to bed.  She could not truly blame him; it had been a tiring day.  The thought occurred to her of slipping out at once to hunt Will down, but she decided against it.

It would keep.  Will would still be there in the morning.

_To Be Continued…_

**_Coming Up Next:_**_  It's horrible how much damage mistaken perceptions and bad timing can wreak.  New journeys begin, broken hearts are left behind, and the "small social gaffe" blows up in Weatherby Swann and Reginald Hamilton's faces! _

**Don't forget to review!  You'll get my personal appreciation!**


	4. Chapter Three: Slipped Moorings

**_Author's Notes:_**_  Ladies and gentlemen, I fear I must deliver the news you have all been dreading:  Law school is upon me!  The work's already piling up and this is only the first week.  I've already been forced to set aside much of my writing for legal briefs and casebooks, so I'm afraid I will soon be going on a major hiatus to handle this.  (Ducks and cringes)  I'm so, so sorry, but my school must come first (I've got myself too deep in debt on this place's stinkin' tuition not to take it seriously!)  But I **promise** this story will be finished, and what spare time I have will be devoted to keeping it going (along with my other fics.)  Please just be patient._

**Chapter Three:  Slipped Moorings**

_The smithy, sometime before dawn…_

No matter how exhausted and heartsick he was, the habit of rising before dawn was too deeply ingrained for Will Turner to break.  It was a matter of practicality in the smithy during the hot season; the hottest work directly over the forge was best done during the coolest part of the day.  This morning, however, although Will woke as always while the stars were still bright, the forge remained cold.  Perhaps if he had allowed himself the luxury of sleeping a bit longer, the day would have gone far differently.

At first he was confused, wondering why he had gone to bed fully-clothed—and in his finest clothes at that!  Then memory came flooding back in a rush of bitterness, and he buried his face in the pillow with a groan of denial.  He had hoped it was all a horrible dream.

Lighting a lantern and walking into the smithy, he wondered about the half-formed plans he had made the night before.  All his practical senses railed against simply running away, but his heart cried for escape.  There was nothing left for him in Port Royal.  Yet…what was there beyond it?  When it came to it, as romantic as the idea sometimes seemed, he did not think he would especially like the pirate's life.  _Jack Sparrow said the pirate was in my blood, but all the same, he had an…indescribable something that made him a good pirate, and I do not think I have that…whatever it is._  It was almost enough to make him smile.  No, he would not run away to sea and become a pirate.  That idea bordered on ludicrous when he thought about it.  He had resorted to piracy for…for Elizabeth, and then for Jack, but he could not see himself so brazenly living outside the law for no reason but personal gain.  On the other hand, he possessed easily the skills to be taken on as a hand aboard a ship, or even perhaps to start himself another shop somewhere else in the colonies.

Feeling freshly confident about his prospects away from Port Royal, he threw open the smithy doors.  The closely-built shops of the town obscured his view of anything beyond this street, but this morning the wind blew fresh air between the buildings, air that was not yet fouled by the odors of the workday.  Also on the breeze came the elusive, tempting scent of the sea, and it was this that made up his mind.  He flung the doors closed and surveyed the shop.  It was hardly possible to take everything with him, but he could at least carry a few tools and what money he had to set himself up somewhere else.

He very nearly succumbed to the temptation to simply disappear, but the frayed remnants of his sense of responsibility halted him even as he made for the door.  Looking back again, he sighed and went to the work table.  He could not leave all his customers and the woman he still desperately loved without a word.  Scratching hastily with his quill, he left a letter of apology to those customers whose orders had been left unfinished—at least he'd managed to get Commodore Norrington's swords done the day before the wedding—and gave directions as to which other smithy in Port Royal might be best equipped to complete them.  The letter to Elizabeth took considerably longer.  He left it on the table in his room.

The sky was only just beginning to lighten as Will crossed through the smithy one last time.  His final action was to nail a simple notice to the outside of the door.  He turned and looked around the familiar street.  All was still quiet; only the baker's shop showed signs of life this early.  Even the fishermen had not arrived yet to open the market.  With a quiet sigh, William Turner departed down the street, carrying nothing but a few tools, his life savings, and the clothes on his back, heading for the docks.

***

_The governor's mansion, a short time later…_

Elizabeth broke with her usual habit of sleeping late and rose when the sun was still low over the sea.  She had slept badly; worry about Will and a strange, vague feeling of unease had roused her repeatedly throughout the night.  So she surprised her maid when she rang the bell only shortly after seven in the morning to get dressed.

Her first thought was to tell her father straightaway what Sir Reginald had done at the reception.  No matter how lowly in society Will Turner might be, she was engaged to him, and civilized men did not make such brazen advances toward another man's fiancée.  The very recollection of Hamilton's voice in her ear and the manner in which he had stood so close sent shudders of revulsion down her spine.  She had laughed hysterically on making her escape into the parlor, trying to hide her desire to rip the skin off her hands and cheek where Hamilton had touched her.  But most of all, she had wanted Will.

And that also made her grimace with memory.  She could not imagine what Hamilton and the other peacocks might have contrived in her absence to force Will to flee the house, and it made her angrier still, at them and at him.  _Why couldn't you have waited, Will?  I would gladly have escaped with you._

As her luck would have it, she had not yet finished dressing when George knocked on the door.  "Miss Elizabeth?  Governor Swann requests that you join him and your houseguests for breakfast in the dining room."

Elizabeth paused from straightening her dress and counted slowly to ten.  "Tell him I'll be down presently, George," she replied in a voice not her own.  

"Very good, Miss."

Elizabeth listened to the valet's footsteps going back down the stairs.  Then she flung her dressing gown onto the bed.  "Hellfire and damnation!"

"Miss Elizabeth!" exclaimed Mary in shock.

"I can_not_ continue simpering and standing ceremony for that importunate lout!  All I want is a chance to tell my father about his behavior and have him out of my house!" she railed.

Mary, waiting with the hairbrushes as Elizabeth stormed over to the mirror, squeaked in alarm.  "Oh, Miss!  I'd no idea—has he done something…" her voice dropped to a scandalized whisper, "_improper_?" 

Elizabeth sighed, sitting down in front of the dressing table and rubbing her forehead.  The very thought of eating breakfast with that man watching her was giving her a headache.  She really shouldn't be discussing such things with the servants, but…why should she care if gossip got out about Hamilton's boorish ways.  "If making brazen overtures to an engaged woman is improper, then yes."

"Oh, Miss!  How dreadful!  Shall I…" Mary leaned forward hesitantly.  "Beggin' your pardon if this is out of place…but shall I tell the Governor you're feelin' poorly?"

Elizabeth stared at her reflection in the mirror and slowly smiled.  "I do seem to have a slight headache."

"Yes, Miss." Giggling, Mary went out.

With her alibi established, Elizabeth decided to slip out in search of her wayward fiancé at once.  Granted, her father would be less than pleased, but he would understand when she had informed him of Sir Reginald's unwelcome advances.  _In the mean time, I have a certain blacksmith's ears to box,_ she thought.

She engaged Mary as her co-conspirator once more to keep a lookout on the dining room while Elizabeth slipped down the stairs and out the front door.  "Shall I have Mr. Maddock bring the carriage round, Miss?" Mary asked, coming out behind her.

There was a light fog over the hills above the harbor, and the sun had not yet heated the breezes coming off the sea.  An hour later, Elizabeth would have taken the carriage, but now, she took a deep breath, thinking perhaps she should get up this early more often.  "No, thank you, Mary.  I shall walk and enjoy the cool morning while it lasts.  Remember, not a word!"

"No, Miss."

With a satisfied smile, Elizabeth let herself out of the gate and walked down the hill toward the town.

***

Will was relieved when he arrived at the docks to find that most of the ships had not yet left, giving him a better chance of finding one that might accept a passenger or an extra hand.  With little real preference in mind, he made for the one that looked nearest to leaving, desiring to be away from Port Royal as swiftly as possible.  "Pardon me," he asked one of the crew.  "Where is this ship bound?"

"Back to England, lad," said the man cheerfully.  "Lookin' for a berth?  We can always use an extra sailor."

Will pondered this.  The thought of returning to Europe had not really occurred to him before.  It would certainly be a clean escape, but on the other hand…he had not considered sailing _quite_ so far away.  With a bit of reluctance, he shook his head.  "No, thank you."

The sailor too looked a bit disappointed at losing the prospect of a clean, well-spoken, young addition to the crew, and shrugged, "Well, if ye change yer mind, we're shoving off in twenty minutes."

The next few vessels he approached were all either heading for Europe, other parts of Jamaica, or not offering additional berths, and he was beginning to grow desperate.  At last, Will tried his luck with a rather worn-looking pinnace called the _Greymalkin_ docked on the quietest part of the harbor.  "Excuse me, sir, what is your ship's destination?"

"Depends on whose askin'," was the surly replied from the aging sailor, whose gray hair and stubbly face hosted a thick coat of dirt.

"I'm seeking a passage off Jamaica," said Will, his need to get out of port today overcoming his misgivings about the appearances of both ship and crew.  He added, "I can pull my weight or pay my way, if you're bound anywhere in the Caribbean other than here."

By now, he'd attracted the attention of the captain, an equally-churlish character with a patch over one eye.  "What ye be askin' questions about, boy?"

"I'm looking for a berth or a passage off this godforsaken island," Will snapped crossly.  "I don't care where."

"Says 'e can pay 'is way or pull 'is weight," the grizzled sailor grunted.

The captain eyed Will for a moment, then told him gruffly, "We be bound for Hispaniola."

"That's perfect!" Will exclaimed, perhaps more eagerly than he should have.  Most of the other sailors on the pinnace were now watching them.

Captain and Grizzled-Beard exchanged looks, then the captain grinned slowly.  "And yeh'll be willin' to pay, then?"

"Or I can work," Will said carefully.  He would rather work his way to his destination; it would give him less time to think.

The sly looks on the sailors' faces ended any hope of that.  "We won't be needin' no more 'ands, boy," said the captain.  "If ye be sailin' with us, yeh'll stay in yer berth outta the way.  And it'll be five shillins."

"Five?!" Will goggled, half-shocked and half-outraged at such a price.  The chuckles of the two men made him grit his teeth.  But the sun was climbing higher, and time was running out.  "Then I'll expect my own cabin," he countered in a flash of inspiration.

"Ain't much space on our little scow," said the captain.

"It doesn't have to be large, so long as it has a door," Will countered.  He'd feel better with a door between himself and this crew.

The captain mulled over the proposal, then slowly nodded.  "It's two days to Pearl Point.  Meals'll be a shillin' extra."

"Fine," Will growled through clenched teeth.

The captain gave a broad grin, showing disgustingly stained teeth of his own.  "We be castin' off in ten minutes, boy.  Don't be late."

"I won't be," he answered wearily.

"And I'll be collectin' yer fare now."  Taking care not to show his money pouch (which was quite heavy despite the complex of poverty he'd been given by too much contact with the aristocracy) Will slapped two shillings and a sixpence onto the manifest book.  The captain's grin faded.  "What's this?"

"Half a crown," Will replied, meeting the man's eyes easily.  "You shall have the other half when we make Pearl Point."

The captain's eyes narrowed, but Will did not drop his gaze.  At length, the man scowled and picked up the coins.  "All right then."

"Thank you," said Will sarcastically, walking down the dock to purchase a few extra supplies he suspected he'd need.  Hearing the captain's shout to prepare a cabin for the passenger, he was struck by a sense of dry irony:  two years ago, he'd have taken these men for pirates.  Then again, just because they were not likely pirates did not mean they were honest.

***

_Further down the docks…_

The English galleon _Cardinal_ was making ready to depart for Europe with a host of goods from the colonies and illustrious passengers.  On the dock, Commodore James Norrington was overseeing the stowing of his luggage and the cargo for England, while bidding his farewells to some of his officers.  "Kindly bring him back to us in one piece, Mrs. Norrington," his best man was saying to Lucinda.

Laughing, Norrington's young wife replied, "I think after a few weeks in Paris he'll return to you far better off than when he left, Lieutenant Gillette!"

"I certainly hope so," Norrington put in, and it was Gillette's turn to laugh.

"You'll be missed, sir, make no mistake," said the Lieutenant.  "Not to mention envied," he added with a smile at Lucinda.  "Pardon me; I'll make certain your bags are all stowed."

"Thank you, Gillette," Norrington replied, and watched the younger man walking up to the _Cardinal_.  Gillette was a good officer; all his men were.  Contrary to the governor's playful complaint, Port Royal would be in good hands in Norrington's absence.  Norrington would never leave otherwise; the prosperity and welfare of the city he'd made his home ten years ago meant to much to him.  The Caribbean was his home as England had never been, even though he'd been born there to a good family.  Like other daring, restless young men seeking new seas to explore, Norrington had seen its worth, though it was not always apparent to other visitors.  Norrington despised wasting anything of good potential.

He was pulled from his reverie by Lucinda's hand suddenly grasping his arm, and her breathy whisper of "James!"

He looked at her and followed her alarmed gaze down to the cheaper docks, where a seedy-looking pinnace was making ready to cast off.  Walking resolutely from one of the dock merchants' booths toward the ship with a single bag slung over his shoulder—and a palpable air of defeat—was William Turner.

"Whatever is he doing?" Lucinda whispered in dismay.

Norrington did not answer her.  His mind was recalling snatches of conversation he'd heard among servants, wedding guests, and his fellow officers this morning on the way down to the harbor.  The Commodore had never had much interest in gossip, but his memory was keen, and it did not take him long to construct a clear picture of what must have transpired the night before after he and his bride had left the reception.  However, unlike most of the other observers, Norrington for one did not find the stories at all amusing, and he was also far less inclined to believe that Elizabeth had been induced to change her mind about her chosen husband in a single evening.  Especially if, as the tales said, she and Turner had scarcely had a moment in each other's company for the entire night.  Norrington had known Elizabeth Swann for just as long as the smith had, and he knew better than to jump to conclusions where she was concerned.  The events two years ago had taught him that lesson well.  Apparently it was a lesson that the man whom she had chosen had failed to learn.

_Rash, Turner, very rash._

Lucinda's grip on his arm tightened, "James, can't we stop him?"

Norrington grimaced to himself.  It was unlikely Turner would be especially receptive to him, but… "I'll see what I can do.  And I would suggest, darling, that you send a message to Miss Swann at the governor's house at once."

His wife dropped his arm and all but ran to fetch a servant.  It brought a slight smile to Norrington's face; to many other men, Lucinda Hamilton had appeared as nothing more than a pretty face and an empty head—not that either quality was considered undesirable by most men of fashion.  However, Norrington liked to think of himself as desiring other qualities, better ones, where women, officers, and even friends were concerned.  As with his beloved Caribbean, he had seen Lucy's worth.  And despite feeling certain that he would die a bachelor after being passed over by the one woman in Port Royal he had thought possessed the qualities he desired in a wife, James Norrington had met a woman who made him better understand the choice Elizabeth Swann had made.  Even as he had discovered that there was far more to the young, rather silly Lucy Hamilton than met the eye, he had realized that he was not the only one in Port Royal capable of discerning hidden worth.  Elizabeth had found it in Will Turner.

However, from what he and his wife had just seen, another thing of great worth was minutes away from being utterly destroyed.  With that in mind, he strode down the docks after the young blacksmith.

***

_At the governor's mansion…_

The sound of a running horse startled Governor Swann and his guests as they finished their breakfast.  A few moments later, the door was opened, so Weatherby got up to see what the urgent visitor was, followed by Sir Reginald.  He found one of Commodore Norrington's messengers, holding a small message.  "From Mrs. Norrington, sir," said the man, looking slightly out of breath.

"Ah," Sir Reginald took it and opened it.  

"Anything urgent?" asked Weatherby.

Hamilton smiled thinly and crumpled the paper in his hand.  "No, just a reminder that the _Cardinal_ sets sail in less than two hours.  The dear girl doesn't want to leave without saying goodbye to each and every one of us."

Weatherby laughed, and the two men returned to the dining room.  Sir Reginald tossed the message into a rubbish bin being carried by one of the maids as he passed.

***

_At the docks…_

There was no chance of preventing Turner from being forewarned of his approach.  The sight of the Commodore heading toward the more questionable ships and merchants sent tongues wagging and warning flags waving like ripples in a tidepool.  The boy became aware of the hissing and ducking and looked over his shoulder while Norrington was still a good fifty yards away.  One glimpse of Turner's bleak eyes made the elder man cringe inwardly.  _And I thought my own grief was great two years ago._

Turner knew the Commodore well enough to be aware that it was useless to try and avoid a confrontation if Norrington wanted one.  So he stopped and waited, wearing a sullen expression that Norrington had never seen on the boy's face before.  Then again, if half of what Norrington had heard about last night was true, Turner's own sense of worth was undoubtedly badly compromised.  _And that is why it's always wisest to look to oneself rather than others for honest assessments of one's character._

He came to a halt in front of the boy and said casually, "Good morning, Turner."

"Commodore," was the flat reply.

_Where to begin?  Might as well be direct, Norrington.  He has no cause to consider you a friend._  "I wasn't aware we would both be departing Port Royal today."

With a bitter twist of his mouth, Turner replied, "Neither was I."

Norrington searched his mind for some way to continue, for some common ground.  He could think of only one thing.  "Mr. Turner, does Miss Swann know what you're doing?"

A flurry of intense emotions crossed the younger man's face, but he answered in the same empty voice.  "No."

_Damn it, boy, your pride will be the death of you!_  Seeing the _Greymalkin_ about to cast off, he threw in his hat.  "You're making a mistake.  If you leave now, it will hurt her."

The smith looked slightly puzzled by Norrington's concern.  But the stubborn defeat remained.  "Sir, I fear you failed to witness certain…developments.  Miss Swann is now accompanied by someone more…suitable."

"I heard plenty about it this morning, but she has no use for Reginald Hamilton," Norrington said urgently.  A bell clanged aboard the pinnace.  _There's no honor or answers in running away, you little fool!_

But Turner had heard the bell, and if Norrington had been close to shaking his resolve, it had reformed.  The boy lifted his chin.  "Then it would seem you did not hear much.  Did you, by chance, hear of what passed between them alone?  I wish her well of him."  His stormy eyes suggested just the opposite.  "He will be able to provide for her far better than I."

"Damn it, Turner, whatever you think you saw or heard, I doubt if any of it included a conversation with Elizabeth," Norrington snapped.  "No amount of gossip or eavesdropping can have told you much of her heart."

"And since when have you become an expert in Elizabeth's heart?  When were you ever?" Turner shot back, his eyes flashing.  Then they suddenly dropped.  "I'm sorry.  That was uncalled for."  He sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the ship, where the crew was boarding.  "I am not wrong, Commodore.  She has chosen him, and he will give her a better life than I could have.  It will be better for us both if I leave Port Royal."  His mouth twisted in a wry half-smile.  "And you may tell Lieutenant Gillette that I recommend Mister Bartleby's smithy for future swords.  He is old, but his new apprentice is promising."

Disgusted and frustrated, Norrington said precisely what he was thinking.  "You're a bloody fool, Turner."

The younger man merely laughed, a bitter, dry laugh.  "I know," he said quietly.  "Goodbye, Commodore.  I wish you and your wife a safe voyage."  With that, he turned and walked quickly down the dock onto the waiting ship, ignoring the stares of the crew.

_Damn!  Where is she?_  Norrington glanced up at the entrance to the port, hoping fervently to see a fast-moving carriage from the governor's house with Elizabeth leaning out the window.  He even contemplated having Gillette delay the pinnace, but could think of no cause.  As shifty as the little ship and its crew looked, there was no real reason to hold them as suspect or Norrington's capable men would have done so already.  Watching the crew pulling the ropes from the moorings and raising the anchor, Norrington experienced the one emotion he despised above all others:  helplessness.  _I am sorry, Elizabeth._

***

For a few moments, in his astonishment at Norrington's protestations on Elizabeth's behalf, Will had hesitated.  But then he had reminded himself that Norrington, though pompous, never had resorted to and was probably unaware of the kind of machinations Will had witnessed between Swann and Hamilton the night before.  _It was quite a campaign, Commodore.  As a lifelong military man, you would have been most interested.  There was a great deal of well-timed strategy involved._

There was no use denying it; Will had lost.  He'd look far less the fool if he left now and spared Elizabeth embarrassment than if he stayed in some absurd attempt at fighting for her.  _What have I to fight with?  Will Turner, the blacksmith in love against Sir Reginald with all his estates and his ships and his white sword?  As if I were not already a grand enough joke in this colony._

He felt a pang of strange regret at leaving Norrington standing there on the dock.  He still had no idea of why the Commodore had suddenly seemed swayed to Will's side in the battle for Elizabeth's heart, and even though it had ended badly, Will found that he could not help feeling grateful.  When he had boarded the ship and looked back at the docks, he saw that Norrington was still there, silently watching him, when he did not look back up at the entrance to the town.

As the sailors moved around him raising the sails, he found himself looking up at the harbor road, and could not help the small, inkling of doubt and hope that Elizabeth might miraculously appear, calling him back.  But he swatted that notion down like a pesky fly.  However much he hated Hamilton, it would be better for Elizabeth if she did not come after him.  She would have a far more secure existence with a man like Hamilton than Will.  He should have seen that from the beginning.

_There will be something else out there, Will told himself as the _Greymalkin_ maneuvered its way out of the tightest choke of ships and the crew unfurled the sails.  __I will build a new life, even if it is not to be with Elizabeth.  I will make something of myself._

The pinnace was gathering speed, making for the mouth of the harbor.  Will glanced back, seeing Commodore Norrington reduced to a small, blue figure upon the dock, still watching him.  He now had a fair view of the entire port, the town with smoke rising from its chimneys as the workday began, and above the town, the houses that belonged to Port Royal's wealthiest inhabitants.  Inevitably, his eyes were drawn to the white house nestled upon the hills that he knew to be the governor's mansion.  His throat tightened in a surge of new grief, and he clenched the side of the ship until his knuckles turned white.  _Elizabeth…_

Of course, he would neither forget her, nor ever love anyone else.  That had been a given.  One did not love so fervently more than once in a lifetime.  All he could hope to find now beyond Port Royal was a new purpose, if not forgetfulness.  

The small ship and the wind blew out of Kingston Harbor, and the last of the smells of Port Royal were chased away by the scent of the sea, as the distance swiftly blurred the white spot above the brown city into nothingness.  The _Greymalkin_ tacked around the eastern headland, moving fast in a strong wind, and then Port Royal was gone.  Will's breath blew out of him in a shaky sigh, and he turned his face at last from the land to the ocean beyond.   _Goodbye._

***

_Back in Port Royal, same time…_

Elizabeth Swann was confused.  She had great enjoyed her morning walk down the hill into the busy markets of Port Royal, and the still-cool morning breeze off the sea had done wonders for her raw temper.  While she was still rather put out with Will for abandoning her, she could only begin to imagine what viciousness Hamilton and his friends had got up to every moment she had been away from his side.  They had probably contrived to humiliate him at every possible turn, and even her strong fiancé had his limits.

_All the same, that is not going to spare you from getting dragged about your smithy by the ear, Will Turner!_

But as she drew closer to the street where the smithy stood, something was puzzling her, like a nagging buzz in the back of her mind she could not quite identify.  And from the looks of things, she was not the only one who had noticed.  Instead of waving and greeting her as they usually did, the merchants and townspeople gave her sidelong glances and whispered to each other as though sharing a bit of very interesting-yet-unpleasant gossip.  _Gracious, have they heard about Will disappearing from the reception already?  Word travels fast!_

It wasn't until she turned onto Will's street that it struck her, so swiftly in fact that her heart lurched in her chest.  The smithy.  There was _no smoke!_  Her heart began to pound, and her steps became swifter.  Today was a Monday, a workday.  No matter what his troubles the night before, Will would never fail to start working on time.  

She began walking faster and faster, her breath coming in little gasps as total panic threatened to take hold.  There were people outside the smithy; she couldn't see the doors!  Why this frightened her she didn't know, but she was about to burst into a full run when a plump figure stepped into her path.  She rocked back on her heels.  "Mrs. Tapling?"

The old shopkeeper's eyes ran over Elizabeth as though looking for something.  Seeing the young woman's pale face, she nodded to herself and said softly, "I'm so sorry, Miss.  I knew it couldn' be your doin'."

"_What?_" Elizabeth gasped desperately.  "What do you mean?"

Mrs. Tapling motioned to the smithy, and Elizabeth rushed past the milling bystanders to read the message nailed to the door.  

**_NOTICE:_**_  The establishment of William Turner is hereby permanently closed.  _

_Patrons are advised to seek service from other places of business in Port Royal, listed below._

There followed a list of various blacksmiths in the area that Will considered at least somewhat competent, but Elizabeth's eyes did not linger on it.  In disbelief, she whispered, "What does he mean?"

"'E's gone, Miss," said Mrs. Tapling quietly.  "They're sayin' he locked up the shop and left at first light--"

Oblivious to the stares and whispers of the people on the street, Elizabeth Swann, the governor's daughter, raised her fist and began beating the smithy door furiously. _"WILL TURNER!"_ she screamed, hammering the wood with all her might until splinters drew blood from her hand.  "Open this door!  Come out here _at once!_"  What did he mean by this?!  _How dare_ he frighten her like this!  "_Will!  Come out here this instant!"_

"Ain't no one there, Miss!" someone said, and with a hiss of denial, Elizabeth grabbed the door handle and yanked.  "Locked, Miss!"

"The devil it is," she snapped, and like the most careless ruffian, she grasped the handle with both hands, braced one leg against the door, and yanked for all she was worth.  But the lock refused to budge and she growled in fury, neither knowing nor caring what anyone thought of her.

A hand touched her shoulder and she swung around, ready to lash out, but found old Mr. Tapling cringing behind her.  He had an iron bar in his hand.  "Miss…if ye likes…I can try an' get it open.  Jus' to see if Mr. Turner's left anythin' behind that might explain…" he lowered his eyes at Elizabeth's horrified face.  

She stared mutely at him as he went quietly past her and with a few deft pulls had wrenched the lock open.  At the sound of the _pop_, she flew to the handle, yanked the door open, and tore inside.  _"Will!"_  

The smithy was dark, empty, and cold.  This couldn't be.  The smithy was never cold.  She stood in the middle of the shop, her breath coming faster and faster, her chest heaving in panic.  There was something on the worktable.  She pounced on it:  a letter to his patrons apologizing for the unfinished orders—she dropped the letter and dashed for the back rooms.  _"Will!"_

There was no one there, but if he had gone he had not taken much with him.  His formal clothes that he had been wearing at the wedding were draped carelessly over a chair.  Even his hat and cloak that she liked so much were still there.  But there was no food in the larder, and the bag he always kept under his bed to use when he went to perform work outside the smithy was gone…Elizabeth began to shake.  Then her eyes fell upon a neatly folded piece of paper upon the small table.  

_Elizabeth,_ it read.  She snatched it up and tore it open, her hands shaking so hard that she could scarcely read it in the dim light.  Gasping raggedly, her breath catching and hitching in her throat, she read, only the first few lines:  _My dearest Elizabeth, by the time that you receive this, I shall be sailing away from Port Royal—_balling the letter in her fist, she spun around and ran.  

Practically falling out of the smithy door, she blurted to the crowd in general, "Anyone who enters this building shall have the governor to answer to."  That was more than enough to cause curious gossips to step back, and then Elizabeth took off in a frenzied dash down the street as fast as her legs could carry her.

All sense of propriety, modesty, and dignity had deserted her in her desperation.  In fact, she had practically no senses left, for her entire mind and being was taken over by a single, soul-shattering thought:  _Will is leaving._   She lost her hat somewhere along the fish market, but didn't stop to pick it up, and soon her hair had come loose and was streaming behind her like a banner.  She tripped and fell right to her hands and knees in full view of a group of gentlemen leaving one of the finer clubs in town, but noticed neither the pain from her scraped palms nor the startled men attempting to come to her aid as she pushed herself back to her feet and began running again.  She managed to avoid falling again by hitching up her skirts in one hand and kept running, still clutching the letter in the other like a compass for her sanity as she sprinted with all her might for the docks, ignoring the shortness of breath, the pain stabbing into her side and throbbing in her legs.  Her mind and heart were consumed with one thought:  _Find Will!  Stop him!_

She was a sight, tearing down the street as if all the minions of hell were chasing her, and if she had been thinking of anything else, she might have seen the appalled expressions on the face of members of Port Royal aristocracy whom she passed by—those who were able to recognize her in such a state, anyway.  But she did not see them and would not have cared if she had.  Men and women of quality exclaimed in shock as she raced past, merchants and workers scrambled to get out of her way, and Elizabeth Swann kept running.

***

_At the docks, a short time later…_

"Civilian vessels are simply incapable of casting off on time," Commodore Norrington muttered to Lieutenant Gillette.

"They're still waiting for Lord Henry," Gillette replied.  

Norrington shook his head.  He had a fetish for punctuality that was constantly irritated by too many brushes with civilian life.  "Perhaps when I return I will implement a change requiring all vessels entering and leaving Port Royal to keep to the pirate code."

"What?!" exclaimed the lieutenant in astonishment.

Norrington smiled dryly.  "Anyone who falls behind is left behind."  His ships and his law enforcement were just as harsh towards pirates as ever, but in the past two years he had developed a slight sense of humor about them.  Gillette's attitudes, on the other hand, had not been altered in the slightest by their encounters with the Black Pearl, Jack Sparrow, or William Turner in his pirate guise.

Governor Swann caught his slight pacing and laughed.  "Patience, my dear Commodore!  We poor civilians can never hope to live up to your standards of timeliness.  You cannot be that eager to be off with Mrs. Norrington!"

The Commodore smiled, as did his wife, who was making her farewells to her father.  Norrington had taken care to prevent Lucinda from learning what had happened at the reception last night from any other lips.  He would tell her himself once they were traveling, in a manner which, unlike their society friends, did not find humor at Will Turner's expense.  Unfortunately, this meant keeping a very close eye on Lucy's father.  Once all the wedding guests had arrived at the docks to see the bride and groom off, word had quickly spread that "that ragamuffin blacksmith" as one crass woman had put it, had left Port Royal early this morning.  Norrington had felt his hackles rise when he saw the smug look exchanged by Sir Reginald and Governor Swann.  Of course, he had not harbored any doubts that Hamilton was involved, but Weatherby Swann?  Surely he would not be involved in any scheme so guaranteed to deeply hurt Elizabeth.

The governor and the remaining guests had arrived saying that Elizabeth was ill with a headache, to Norrington's disappointment. He had hoped to break the news to her himself, for he suspected he was likely to be the only person present who would understand her true feelings when she found out.  Now he wondered if she already knew, and if not, where she was.

Multiple gasps of shock answered the question, followed soon by the sound of pounding feet and ragged breathing.  Lucinda exclaimed aloud as Elizabeth burst into the docks at a dead run, her hair unkempt and her dress torn, wearing a look of total, fixed desperation.  Norrington sprang to her aid, but her father intercepted her first.  "Elizabeth!  By God, what is the matter with you?!"

She barely heard him, her eyes flitting wildly from ship to ship, from face to face through the docks.  Norrington's heart twisted with pity as she gasped out, "Where is he?"__

Predictably, Weatherby Swann entirely overlooked her fear and desperation for the embarrassment of the fact that she was behaving so in public.  From the looks of them, not a one of the other civilized folk on the docks were moved to any sort of compassion either.  "Elizabeth, what in God's name do you mean, raising such a spectacle--"

She grabbed his arms, her eyes wild.  _"Where is he?!"_

Pink silk brushed past Norrington's hand as his wife suddenly left his side, hurrying toward the governor and his hysterical daughter.  Taking Elizabeth's hands firmly, she said softly, "Lizzie, we tried to stop him.  But he left on a ship bound for Hispaniola.  James tried to dissuade him."  She shook her head sadly, and Norrington quietly amended the count of persons on the dock feeling any sympathy to two.  But he was not surprised.  Two years ago, when sheltered, privileged, but suddenly-motherless Lucy Hamilton arrived in Port Royal to live with her aunt and uncle, she had been the one person whom Elizabeth had ever permitted to call her by that much-abhorred pet name.  "He's gone, Lizzie.  I tried to get word to you, but the ship left over an hour ago."

Elizabeth stared at Lucinda, her eyes wide and uncomprehending, and slowly shook her head.  Lucy pulled the older woman into a fierce embrace.  "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth.  So very sorry!  He didn't realize what he was doing!"

Pulling slowly out of Lucinda's arms, Elizabeth walked aimlessly down the docks, staring accusingly at each of them as if wondering which had held the ship that had borne her fiancé away from her.  Seeing Swann about to approach his daughter again, Norrington spurred himself into action.  Quietly holding up a hand to forestall the governor, he said quietly, "Perhaps I might speak to her, sir.  There are times when the advice of friends is more welcome than family."

Shaking his head in dismay, Weatherby whispered, "Talk some sense into her, Norrington!  She must be brought back to her senses before she disgraces us anymore!"

Norrington nodded gravely, even though he had not the least intention of worrying about Weatherby Swann's social reputation.  Walking gravely to Elizabeth, he drew her, trembling and shocked, away from the others.  "Hispaniola?" she asked him numbly.

The Commodore nodded, trying to read her thoughts.  He already had a fair idea of what would happen when Elizabeth _did_ come back to her senses.  She would do the same thing she had done before when Will Turner was separated from her.  "I checked with the harbor master, Elizabeth.  The _Greymalkin_ was bound for Pearl Point."

Elizabeth blinked, shaking her head wearily.  "I've never heard of it."

Norrington hesitated, aware of what he could set in motion by telling her this.  But he had seen the lengths she went to two years ago for Will Turner's sake (including an offer of marriage to him whom she did not love) and in the end, he had admired it.  Most men in his circle failed to see the worth of a strong and capable woman.  With a deep breath, he stepped over the edge.  "It is a front."

"What?" her eyes narrowed, the usual understanding and intelligence returning to them already, despite her grief.  "A front of what sort?"

"The ship left from one of the cheap docks, Elizabeth.  We've known for some time that there are a large number of supposed merchant ships who actually run cargo for pirates."  Comprehension flashed into her brown eyes, and he wondered again at the wisdom of telling her.  But she knew half the tale now, and would not let him falter from telling her the rest.  "These ships do not engage in actual piracy, but carry supplies to pirate ports and ships.  Pearl Point is one false destination logged by many captains of these ships, as a front for a destination further along the coast of Hispaniola."

She had always been quick, even as a girl.  Her eyes went wide, and her voice was a whisper.  "Tortuga."  Norrington nodded.  "He's gone to join pirates?"

Norrington had considered the possibility, then had decided it was unlikely.  "I doubt if he realizes that is where he is bound.  They would not tell a strange passenger no matter how much he was offering them.  More likely, they'll either leave him at Pearl Point or take him all the way to Tortuga."

"Or they'll take him for whatever items of value he has and make certain that wherever they land, he doesn't live to tell about it," she finished.  He winced, wishing she were not so perceptive.  Elizabeth looked away.  "Dear God, why did he do this?"

The task of telling her that unpleasant tale would have to fall to sterner hearts than his.  Norrington could not do it.  But she failed to notice his silence and instead wandered back down the docks toward the road to town, slipping a piece of paper into her skirt pocket that Norrington suspected was a note from Turner.  He trailed after her, offended by the titters of a few of the observers, but failed to see Sir Reginald Hamilton moving toward Elizabeth in time to stop him.

"I'm so very sorry to hear that your beloved proved to be less than faithful," said Sir Reginald, his voice oily and amused.  Elizabeth's eyes snapped up to him, and flashed with a hatred that made Norrington's wife gasp.  "My dear girl," said Hamilton gravely, "you look dreadful!"  He made a show of taking off his cloak and moving to where Elizabeth stood stock-still, staring at him as if he were the most hideous thing she had ever beheld.  He made to slip the cloak around her shoulders, and began, "I _do_ hope you'll allow me to escort you back to your father's hou--"

The reaction of the governor of Jamaica's daughter to the suit of one Sir Reginald Hamilton, former member of Parliament, would be the stuff of Caribbean legend for years to come.  Elizabeth Swann, in full view of the harbormaster, dockworkers, sailors, and half of Caribbean society, savagely wrenched herself away from Reginald Hamilton's grip, whirled on him with eyes flashing in utter fury, and roared, "_Take_ your _filthy_ hands off me, you _disgusting lout_!" 

"Elizabeth!" gasped Weatherby Swann in despair, undoubtedly envisioning his destroyed reputation after this day.

But Elizabeth was not done.  "_How dare_ you continue to importune me in this fashion, you _cad_!  I am _engaged to be married_ and now _twice_ you have made these disgusting advances!"

Gasps rang out from every direction.  Norrington's wife raised her hands to her face, staring at her father in astonishment.  No matter how hysterical the woman was, an accusation of this sort could not be taken lightly by a man who comported himself as a gentleman.  Hamilton did not take it lightly, and as he drew back to defend himself, with one hand upon the white sword at his hip, Norrington caught Governor Swann's look of total panic in the background, and put two and two together with a mental cringe.  This would be ugly.

Fingering the white sword as if it somehow lent credence to his words, Hamilton spoke in a cold, cruel voice, "I made no unsanctioned solicitations, Miss Swann.  I was told that yours was not a _legitimate engagement."_

Elizabeth's tone was low and dangerous, "What?"

Lucinda closed her eyes, beginning to understand what had driven her friend's fiancé from Port Royal.  Norrington sighed to himself.  Being as young as she was, and having lost her mother, Lucy thought the world of Sir Reginald.  Her husband had hoped learning the truth about her one remaining parent's character would be a less harsh experience, but Norrington had had his misgivings about Reginald Hamilton almost from the moment they had met.

And Lucinda received an all-too-clear lesson about what her father was capable of, for the man spared no feelings in explaining the situation to Elizabeth.  "My dear Miss Swann, I broke with your father and obtained his good will last night to step forward as your suitor.  In fact, I obtained not merely his good will, but his blessing and encouragement_.  He seemed to find my suit __quite welcome."  There was obscene amusement in the man's eyes.  Elizabeth's gaze slowly moved from Reginald Hamilton to fall upon her father, and stripped all pretensions away with a single look.  "He cannot deny it, my dear.  He was under the impression that since your devoted young blacksmith had yet to even present you with an engagement ring, you might still be considered available for courtship."_

"Father!" gasped Lucy, her face appalled.

Elizabeth no longer heard either of them.  She was staring fixedly at her own father.  As much as society frowned upon the courtship of a gentlewoman by a blacksmith, there were certain customs to be observed, and one was that while a father might deny a man permission to court his daughter, he did _not give permission for her to enter into an engagement with one man, and then go back on his word by declaring her free to be courted by someone else.  The English aristocracy was nothing if not fickle, and the same broken uppercrust rules that had been sniggered at behind closed doors last night were now whispered about and exclaimed over in horror.  The same convention that Reginald Hamilton and Weatherby Swann had brushed aside had now returned to haunt them.  Both their reputations would suffer for it._

However, now it looked as if at last, Weatherby Swann was not thinking of his reputation.  "Elizabeth," he pleaded.

Hers was as flat as Turner's had been earlier that morning, at having discovered the bitter truth.  "You did this."

"I only wanted you to be--"

"You _allowed_ this unprincipled rake to pursue me?  Another man's fiancée?"  She gave him no quarter.

Weatherby Swann had never possessed half of the courage that his daughter did.  And so when it came to it, the near out-and-out battle that was launched between them over the untimely departure of Will Turner, Governor Swann did not stand a chance.  "Elizabeth, darling, please--"    

"—We have nothing more to say, Father," Elizabeth spat, striding stiffly back up toward the town.

"Elizabeth, please!  Elizabeth!"  Swann actually ran after her and caught her arm, but she shocked polite society once more that morning when she spun around and dealt him a solid, ringing slap.

Backing away from her stunned father, Elizabeth told him curtly, "Kindly keep your hands to yourself, sir.  I'll not be touched by _either_ of the men who have so grossly impugned my honor."  With that, she turned on her heel and stalked up the road, her head high and leaving two British noblemen thoroughly and publicly set down in her wake.

A rather shaken sailor aboard the _Cardinal_ belatedly remembered that they were supposed to be casting off, and rang the bell.  More than one person jumped.  "We must be on our way, my dear," Norrington said quietly to his wife.  "Do you wish to say…anything to your father?"

Turning toward him, there was a dark look in Lucy's formerly-innocent eyes.  Norrington was rather sad to see it appear so soon.  "No, James.  I think I've had quite enough of my father's words today.  Let's be going."  And so, taking his wife's arm, Commodore James Norrington boarded the _Cardinal_ for his honeymoon in Paris—half wondering if Port Royal would still be standing by the time he returned.

***

Once she was back in the city streets above the harbor, walking slowly now because she no longer felt she had anywhere to go, Elizabeth pulled Will's crumpled letter from her pocket and read it.

_My dearest Elizabeth,_

_By the time you receive this, I shall be sailing away from Port Royal.  I can think of no way to say this that does not break my heart and will not grieve you, so I shall come straight out with it.  I saw you and Sir Reginald in the foyer last night.  What you may not have known at the time, but most likely are aware of now, is that your father does not consider our engagement legitimate due to my situation in life, and has given Sir Reginald full permission to seek your hand in marriage.  So you see, there are no real obstacles to your future with Sir Reginald, save one:  my selfish love for you._

_I am fully aware that Sir Reginald is capable of giving you all the things in live that you deserve, and that my own situation could never afford for you. It was foolish to think that such a deprivation would be easy for you, and I am only sorry that I was not more understanding.  Please believe that I bear you no malice for your choice, and wish you all the best for your happiness.  However, I feel that ending our engagement will be a cause of great pain for you after all we have been through, and therefore I thought it best that I should remove myself from Port Royal where I will not be cause for embarrassment or worry.  Please do not concern yourself on my behalf.  While I cannot deny that I will think of you and cherish my memories of that time that you loved me, know that I shall find a life beyond Jamaica, and wish only for your happiness.  I have no regrets over the past two years, except that I was not born to be a man who could properly love you._

_Farewell,_

_William Turner_

She wove unconsciously through the crowds of people now packing the markets and shops, oblivious to the whispered gossiping of people who had already heard the news of what had happened at the docks, not even noticing how her skin burned under the noonday sun.  She did nothing but read Will's letter, over and over and over.  He had believed it.  He had seen Hamilton importuning her and believed that she welcomed it.  The thought raised such a violent combination of anguish and fury that she very nearly fell to her knees and screamed on the spot.  Will had deserted her because he thought she had chosen the unprincipled, vulgar Reginald Hamilton.

She was suddenly standing outside the smithy again, with its lock still broken.  Even so, it looked as if everyone had believed her threat and had left the place alone.  She stared in confusion at the door, wondering what she was going to do.  Mrs. Tapling came out of the shop then.  "Ain't no one gone in, Miss.  We've kept a good lookout on it."  If she was offended by Elizabeth's lack of an answer, she did not show it, but just watched as Elizabeth silently pulled open the door and went back in.

How dark this place still was.  Smithies had to be dark, Will had explained to her once, so that the smith could see what he was doing with red-hot iron.  Its color and brightness were one way of telling how hot and soft the metal was.  She had once tried to watch him at his work, both out of a desire to let him know it did not discourage her and out of sheer curiosity.  But Will had been too self-conscious with her present as he labored, and had made so many mistakes that she had finally realized her presence was too great a distraction and left, laughingly brushing off his embarrassed apologies.

She passed the unpolished worktable, her eyes falling idly to the letter of apology he had written to his customers—even going so far as to recommend specific smithies to each of them that would be best for their particular order.  Conscientious to the end.  Looking ahead at the door to his room, she went to it and opened it again.

Dear God, the room smelled like him!  She'd never noticed it before!  _Will!  All at once, all the fear, shock, confusion, betrayal, and loss that had built up within her throughout the morning came exploding out.  With an almost-wail of despair, she threw herself across the room, seizing his cloak off the hook where it hung, and fell onto his bed, clutching it to her and sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.  The cloak felt warm to her, and its scent and softness against her skin were like Will's ghost, holding her in its arms, and she clung to it, like a raft that would keep her from drowning in despair._

_ "Damn you, Will Turner!__  Damn you!" she railed into the fabric through her sobs.  How could he have believed her capable of such a shallow, cruel turn?  How could he have left without so much as attempting to have the truth from her lips?  _

Elizabeth normally did not think much of swearing, unless she was in (as Will liked to put it) a "pirate" mood.  But now, she cursed Will Turner with all her might, and unrepentantly consigned Reginald Hamilton and her father to hell for all they had done in this past day.  Not a one of them trusted her.  She laughed bitterly at it, rolling onto her back on Will's bed.  There was one thing they all had in common.  The irony of it tore at her until she was laughing just as hard as she had been sobbing, with tears rolling down her face.  The emptiness of the room cut her, tearing her with its loneliness, and she buried her face in the pillow, catching in its scent the memory of Will's dark hair.  _Oh Will!  Oh God!_  

She could not stand it.  She was going mad.  She needed him!  How could he have left her?!  "Damn you, Will!  When I find you again, so help me, I will _kill you for this!"_

_When I find you…_

She slowly sat up, the violent, storm-tossed sea of hysteria calming again, as her mind latched onto those simple words.  _When I find you…  That seedy boat Commodore Norrington had mentioned was probably taking Will to Tortuga, unless they chose to rob and kill him before they got there.  The thought made her moan and clutch the cloak to her again.  She wrapped it around her, shivering, and feeling fresh tears spilling from her eyes at the memory of how heroic it had looked, sweeping around him the day he and Jack Sparrow had fought the entire Port Royal militia—_

Jack.  _When I find you…_  Jack Sparrow.  _I will find you._  Captain Jack Sparrow and the _Black Pearl.  __I must find you!_

After quite some time, Elizabeth stumbled to her feet, dizzy from how long she had been crying, and wrapped Will's cloak around her shoulders, heading for the door.  She was not exactly certain how she would begin what she intended to do, but her anguish had been replaced by determination.  _Whether you are a pirate or a blacksmith, I am yours and you shall never be rid of me, she had told him before James and Lucy's wedding.  She still knew it was true.  Be it Tortuga or Isla de la Muerta or the very gates of hell, Will Turner could not go anywhere that she would not follow._  And when I find you, Will Turner…so help me, I will tear your bloody ear off!__

She was walking back toward the smithy door when it suddenly opened, and in walked her maid.  "Mary?  What on earth are you doing here?"

"Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but the Governor sent me.  You've been gone for hours, and he's sent half the servants in the house out lookin' fer you.  I thought you might be here."

Elizabeth sighed.  "Well, you thought correctly, it seems.  And what exactly did my father plan to have you do when you found me?"

Mary cleared her throat, looking away.  "He said we were to tell you from him that you're to come home at once.  That it's an order, Miss."

Elizabeth had always had the utmost respect for her father and his wishes.  But now, after all that she had heard today, well…she was distinctly unimpressed.  "I see.  And I could care less for his orders."

Mary looked slightly terrified.  "You want me to back and tell him _that_, Miss?"

Elizabeth sighed and shook her head.  "No need, Mary.  My silence will speak well enough for me.  In fact, I need your help.  Will's left Port Royal on a ship that will likely take him to Tortuga.  I intend to go after him."

Mary let out a little squeak of horror.  "Tortuga, Miss?  That's pirate territory!"

"I've been in pirate territory before, Mary."  She laughed dryly.  "Plenty of Port Royal is still pirate territory.  I have no intention of letting my fiancé run away from me without the courtesy of saying farewell to my face—no, the truth is, I have no intention of letting him run away from me at all.  Not for the machinations of two pompous old men."  Mary's eyes were wide.  Elizabeth elaborated, "It was my father and Sir Reginald Hamilton who contrived what happened last night."

Hesitantly, the maid said, "I…I know, Miss."  Seeing the sharp look her mistress gave her, she hastily reached into her pocket.  "I didn't know until after you'd gone, but I realized…a message came.  Real fast like, from Miss Lucinda—I mean, Mrs. Norrington.  But Sir Reginald opened it and threw it in the rubbish bin."  She brought out a crumpled message written on Lucy's stationary.  "I didn't notice until I was emptyin' it out that the message was for you, not for Sir Reginald."

_Elizabeth_ was written quite clearly on the outside of the message, yet the note was opened.  Elizabeth felt her blood boil at the insult.  Opening it, she found the message she knew she would, written hastily in Lucinda's hand:  

_Dear Lizzie, _

_Come quick.  _

_Will Turner is at the docks about to board a ship leaving Port Royal.  James will try to stall him.  Please hurry.  _

_Lucy._

After a few minutes, she remembered Mary was there.  "Did my father know the message was for me?"

"I can't say, Miss.  I wasn't in the room right when it came, though he and Sir Reginald did go to the door together," said Mary apologetically.  Then her eyes grew round and fearful.  "Are you…really wantin' me to help you run away to Tortuga?"

Elizabeth sighed.  She had asked a great deal of Mary today, and there were things to be done if she intended to escape from under her father's searchers' noses, but… "No, Mary.  I want you to stay here.  Keep out of sight and wait for me.  I must slip back into the mansion for a few things, but I shall return soon."  

"Y-yes, Miss!"  With an encouraging smile to hide the cold apprehension in her stomach, Elizabeth started toward the door, then stopped, frowning to herself.  She glanced at her gown; though ruined, it was still obviously a lady's, and her father (and probably the militia) were looking for a lady.  Then her eyes fell on Will's cloak, and his hat, a perfectly ordinary merchant's hat, only special to her because it was his, still hanging on its hook.  Elizabeth drew Will's cloak around her and slipped his hat onto her head.  Then she tucked as much of her hair up under it as she could.  Fortunately, Will's slightly greater height made the cloak long enough to hide the hem of her dress.

Opening the door cautiously to make certain no one was about, she was startled to see that it was dark outside.  No wonder her father had sent men out looking for her.  At least the markets were empty.  Slipping out and shutting the door behind her, Elizabeth drew the cloak around her and hurried down the quiet street.

It felt like ages climbing up the hill to the governor's mansion, and all the while she was certain that anyone who glanced at her would see her face under the hat and end the charade with a shout.  Her fears were only silenced by the bitterness in her heart when she slipped around behind her father's house, rather than entering through the gate, to avoid being seen.  It was strange how easy it was to feel that this was no longer her home, but a stranger's, or even hostile territory.  _After what I learned of his scheming today, I will feel more at home in Tortuga!_

It rather amused her that she was able to slip inside unnoticed through the servants' entrance.  From what Mary had said, most of the servants were out looking for Elizabeth, so Elizabeth herself managed to get into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom without a single soul noticing her.  Closing her bedroom door, she listened for a moment.  The mansion was silent.  Everyone must still be out hunting for her.  _Like a wayward child_, she thought crossly, and headed for her dressing table.

It irritated her to discover just how little pocket money she actually had.  If ever she wanted something, she had only to ask her father for it.  Now, looking at the measly collection of coins and notes in her pouch, Will seemed rather wealthy by comparison.  She knew where her father kept his strongbox, which contained his store of money, but she had no idea where the key was, and the idea of breaking into the thing and stealing from it gave her a qualm, despite all that had happened.  She eyed the small handful of money again in exasperation; she'd never had to consider something like this before.  She would need to buy herself a passage to Tortuga (which would undoubtedly mean dealing with less-than-scrupulous sailors), she would also need to eat, find shelter, and how long _would_ it take to track down the _Black Pearl_?

If Tortuga was where Will found himself, no matter what his original intent had been, then he too would probably go searching for Jack.  Elizabeth sighed; Tortuga was where she would have to start, if she had any hope of finding Will.  If Will was not at Tortuga, but she were able to find Jack Sparrow, then she would at least be among friends…somewhat.  At the moment, the crew of the _Black Pearl_ seemed infinitely better company than anyone left in Port Royal.

_But how am I to survive until I find them?_  She pondered miserably, counting her money.  Less than two pounds.  That would not last her long, where she was headed.  In frustration, she leaned her chin on her hand, resting her elbow on the dressing table, and her gaze fell suddenly upon her jewelry box.

_Of course!_  She seized the box and upended it, examining the gold, silver, and jewels for the first time for their value for sale rather than as trinkets from doting friends and family.  Stuffing the ones that appeared to be worth the most money while the least sentimental to her into her pouch along with the coins, she put the rest of the things back and rearranged the table as she'd left it.  She didn't want to give any hints of her intentions before she was well away. 

Going to the closet, she found another obstacle:  she did not appear to own a single simple garment.  All her dresses were works of satin and lace artifice that would be totally unsuitable for where she was going and what she planned to do.  In frustration, she threw Will's hat and cloak back on and slipped back down the stairs.  Perhaps she'd appropriate a few of his things and masquerade as a man.  It might be more practical in the end.

Just as she was hurrying back down the stairs for the servants' exit, the front door flew open.  Elizabeth lurched to stop, choking on an oath, but it was Mary.  "I told you to wait!"

"Sorry, Miss, but some o' the soldiers thought maybe you'd come back here, and the Governor's on his way right now!"

"Damn," Elizabeth growled.  Cursing was beginning to come more easily to her; apparently it just took practice.  She looked around.  Will's hat and cloak wouldn't keep her hidden long.  A merchant with his cloak wrapped around him on a warm night with his hat pulled down over his face would be suspect if looked at twice.  She had to get out of this gown! 

"What do you want to do, Miss?" asked Mary anxiously.  "They'll be here in a few minutes!"

With a frustrated sigh, Elizabeth looked at Mary—and her eyes fell upon the plain gray dress under the maid's apron.  "Mary…where do you get your dresses?"

"My dresses, Miss?"

"I can't very well go sneaking out to the harbor in this," Elizabeth said hurriedly, coming down the stairs and taking Mary's arm, leading her toward the servant's quarters.  "Do you have another you could spare?"

"Well, no, Miss," Mary said awkwardly.  "I mean, I've two spare dresses, but…well…they wouldn't fit you, Miss.  They'd be far too big."  She blushed.

Elizabeth felt herself blushing too.  "Oh."  She pursed her lips.  "But where do you get them?"  She doubted very much that her own elite seamstress sewed maid's clothing, and Mrs. Finnegan wouldn't exactly be counted upon to aid her in running away to Tortuga either.

"I don't rightly know, Miss," Mary replied.  "They're given a maid by the cook or the head servant when she's hired.  However," she hesitated, blushing again, and cocked her head at Elizabeth.  "I seem to recall that Lily Higgins in Mrs. Norrington's house is about your size."

And so away they went, rushing to the safety of the Norringtons' house, closed up for their absence, just as the governor's carriage came through the gate of the mansion.  Elizabeth hid in the shrubbery like a cat burglar while Mary went inside, and by some guise, managed to procure two ordinary gray stuff dresses and a white linen bonnet.  "You'd best be puttin' these on now, Miss.  Lily says the whole militia's fixin' to be called out!"  

"Keep a lookout, Mary!" Elizabeth whispered, and ducking into the deepest of the bushes, changed from her lady's gown into the maid's dress.  Mary was right; it was almost a perfect fit.

As she emerged from the shrubs, hiding the gown away, Mary hissed, "Your hair, Miss!"

"What?"

"Your hair!" Mary snatched up the bonnet, hastily twisted Elizabeth's hair into two rude plaits, pinned them close to her head and plunked the bonnet over them.  "There.  Now you look ordinary."  Elizabeth hoped she was right.  "Where'll you be wantin' us to go now, Miss?"

Elizabeth sighed quietly.  "_I_ will be going to find a ship bound for Tortuga, Mary.  _You_ will go back and join the search as if that's what you've been doing all along.  I don't want my father punishing you."

"Oh, Miss, but will you be all right?"

"I'll be fine.  I've been in worse situations than this," she replied, hoping she was right.  "Now go, and if you can, keep them away from the harbor and the beaches."  

"Yes, Miss.  An'…good luck, Miss.  Findin' your Mr. Turner, I mean.  He's a good man, even if he made a dreadful mistake."

With a sigh, Elizabeth smiled.  "Thank you, Mary."  She wrapped the second dress in Will's cloak, bundled them under her arm, and started off down the hill.

Passing through the town, she managed to procure one more thing she suspected she would need.  She also took the risk of stopping to return Will's hat to the smithy.  It was a silly decision, but she couldn't bear to abandon it on the side of a road.  The cloak she kept, with her other dress, some food, and her money pouch wrapped in it. Despite how exposed she felt with her face bare and all these people rushing about searching for the governor's missing daughter, not a soul questioned the slim woman in the plain gray dress and maid's bonnet walking with her shoulders slumped and head lowered through the streets.  Elizabeth did worry about kicking her feet too far, for she was wearing far too fine a pair of shoes and stockings for a maid to own.  A shame she and Mary had not thought of that back at the house.

As Mary had said, the search was now heading back up the hills, seeking Elizabeth among the houses of the aristocracy, while she in fact was slipping back down to the docks.  It felt very strange to her that she could become practically invisible just by wearing the proper clothing.  She slipped from the road to the docks right under the noses of watchful guards, a simple working woman with a bundle under her arm headed for one of the docked ships, without a soul the wiser.

Elizabeth knew instinctively that she would not find the kind of boat she was looking for moored at the main docks closest to town.  Instead, she followed the piers and walkways farther and farther from the frequented road, passing over those whose crews were obviously asleep at one of Port Royal's many sailors' inns.  At last, separated from the harbor docks entirely, she found what she wanted.

After a very long walk, nearly four coves away from the main docks, Elizabeth came upon a beach full of heavy, albeit quiet, activity.  No less than four small ships were anchored there, with men passing to and from them in longboats, carrying barrels of liquor and boxes of cargo.  Obviously the four ships were not all from the same fleet, judging by the way the crews supervising the loading and unloading kept wary eyes on one another as they worked.  More shadowy figures were coming down the hill onto the beach carrying more supplies, and worrying about whatever to-do was going on in the town.  They all had weapons.  Lots and lots of weapons.

Obviously piracy was not nearly so close to extinction in the Caribbean as Lieutenant Gillette liked to boast.  It was unlikely that even Commodore Norrington realized just how active the privateer trade still was in the Caribbean.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, surveying the unsavory rabble.  They reminded her far too much of the crew of Captain Barbossa, and it was only by reminding herself that the moon was full and that any one of these men might also draw to mind thoughts of Jack Sparrow that she was able to keep up her courage.  Even still, this was going to be harder than she had thought.  _The things I am willing to do for you, Will Turner,_ she thought angrily.  _You shall definitely be parting company with an ear when I get my hands on you.  _With that thought, she straightened her shoulders and started to march onto the beach, then thought better of it and let them slump a bit.  

Her appearance raised an immediate hue and cry, and had the effect of uniting the uneasy portmates through a sense of shared peril.  All work ceased, weapons were brought to bear in her direction, then almost immediately lowered, and hard, cold gazes were leveled at her in suspicion.  The nearest man who was obviously some sort of officer aboard one of the ships stepped towards her.  "What ye think ye be doin' 'ere, Missy?"

Elizabeth swallowed hard.  This was going to be _much_ harder than she had thought.  "I'm looking for a ship bound for Tortuga."

An incredulous mutter went up through the ranks.  Looking at the men staring back at her, Elizabeth saw more than one visible pirate brand.  She swallowed again.  Yes, Jack Sparrow was a pirate and a good man…but none of these men was Jack Sparrow.  The man in the lead exchanged glances with several of the others, then grinned slyly at her, "And business 'as a little lady like yerself in Tortuga?"

"My own business," Elizabeth replied coldly.

The next mutter that went up from the group might have been approving, or at least amused.  The lead man sneered at her.  "'Tis bad luck to bring a woman aboard a ship, Missy.  Ain't many ways ye could repay us."  His eyes wandered over her in a way that made her want to shudder, but she managed to stave it off by pinching the flesh of her arm.

Carefully, Elizabeth reached into her bundle for her pouch and fumbled for the first piece of jewelry she could find.  Feeling the smoothness of the pearls on the string, she pulled it out and held it up, to the predictable exclamations from the pirates.  "I can pay for a passage."  She split the string, sliding the pearls off into her hand.  "And I won't see a thing," she added, noticing the way the men were covering some of their cargo.

Now a good number of the pirates were muttering amongst themselves.  She was just beginning to relax when the lead man gave her an even broader grin that alarmed her at once.  "A little maid like you oughtn't to be wavin' around pretty things like that, Missy.  Might invite robbers!"

Then Elizabeth heard the ill-concealed sound of footsteps behind her, and thanked God she had made that last stop in town.  Whirling around, she reached into her bundle and yanked out the pistol she had lifted from a drunk's belt outside one of the inns.  The pirates who'd been attempting to sneak up on her froze in their tracks, and she heard several startled curses from the beach.  "The militia is on alert up in the town," she said loudly, so they all could hear.  "The sound of a gun going off here will draw every soldier in Port Royal.  I hardly think you want that."

Grumbling, her would-be robbers edged down the path and joined their compatriots on the beach.  She took careful note of which crew they joined—all four.  She fought the urge to sigh.  It was unlikely she'd get much chance to sleep on this trip.  Assuming she even managed to get aboard a ship.

With a reluctantly respectful grimace, the lead man muttered, "I reckon all four o' these ships be bound for Tortuga, Missy.  Take yer pick."

_Here goes nothing…_ Elizabeth looked from one ragtag crew to another, then glanced back in the direction of Port Royal.  Knowing her father and the militia, with no sign of her by now, they were spreading out beyond town and would soon be prowling the other beaches.  "Which of your ships is casting off the soonest?"

"We be waitin' on another delivery," said one crewman.  

"Us too," said another.

To her dismay, it was the lead man who smiled and said, "We're just about to be headin' back.  Plenty a space on our boat for a lady.  Ye can even 'ave yer own cabin, if ye ain't too particular—though I suspect yer not."  He grinned toothily at her.

Elizabeth took a deep breath.  "Very well."  She stepped forward and dropped half of the pearls into the pirate's hand.  "For a _safe_ passage to Tortuga."  Then in a flash of inspiration, she added, "You will receive the other half when we arrive, if I'm delivered safely."

"Sounds like a fair price, then," chuckled the pirate, and made a great show of handing her into the longboat.  She gave up on subtlety and kept the gun firmly in her lap where all the pirates could see it as they climbed in.  "Shove off!"  the man ordered.  He grinned at her again as the pirates began rowing.  "Oh, bless me, where are my manners?  I'm Captain Porter, of the ship _Mad Molly_.  And whom do I 'ave the honor of ferryin'?"

As the pirates rowed their longboat out to what she was now certain was the darkest and meanest-looking of the ships in that cove, Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before answering.  "Turner," she said bitterly.  "Elizabeth Turner."

_To Be Continued…_

**_Coming Up Next:_**_  We shall learn the fates of the _Greymalkin****_and the _Mad Molly_…one will reach Tortuga, and the other will be lost to Davey Jones' locker, under decidedly creepy circumstances.  But what of the fates of our two star-crossed lovers, you ask?  Let's just say that before long, **both** of them will need rescuing.  But even Jack Sparrow can't be in two places at once!_

**Don't Forget to Review!  Responses in the following chapter, as always!**


	5. Chapter Four: Down On Yer Luck

**_Author's Apology:_**_  My dear readers, how can I begin other than with a deep, groveling apology for the wait you are enduring!  I am so very very sorry!  Allow me to issue this warning to any prospective lawyers among you:  you know all those horror stories you hear about law school workloads?  They are ALL true.  Actually, school wouldn't be so bad (it's really interesting) if I didn't also have a full-time job to deal with.  In fact, I'm seriously thinking about quitting and just piling on another loan.  I'm so deep in debt already that another fifteen thousand bucks won't make that much difference.  ;-)  No kidding.  It's THAT expensive.  All I can do is beg you to please forgive me and bear with me while I struggle to keep from drowning in this sea of work and studying.  I can't promise to update soon after this; it may be that you'll have to wait until the holidays, but I promise:  this fic WILL be finished.  Lawyer's honor.  Er, no, how about…politician's honor?  Hmm.  Nah, that's not very reassuring either.  Oh well.  Just please be patient, and I'll do my very best to keep working on this when I can.  And think of me on the second week of December:  that's exam week._

**_Author's Note:_**_  I would like to thank the many readers who have reviewed and emailed with such wonderful compliments for my original characters, particularly Lucinda Hamilton.  As I've told many of you, it's tough and a little scary to write a major original female character, even more so when I fully intended to pair her off with a major canon character.  In response to one question in particular about how I avoided the dreaded Mary-Sue factor, allow me to explain:  I started out with the intention of finding a chick for Norrington to marry.  So what I did was contemplate what kind of man he is, and what kind of woman he likes.  I see him as a rather paternal character toward women, judging by his behavior toward Elizabeth in the last movie (which is why, in truth, Elizabeth wasn't really right for him.)  On the other hand, I don't see him falling for anyone totally obnoxious.  Thus I created Lucy, a slightly younger, slightly ditzier, much more naïve gal who'll make a nice, biddable wife, but also possessing qualities Norrington seems to admire, such as a sense of right and wrong and a caring heart.  And of course, beauty (that's the biggest risk in creating a non-Suvian OFC, but I just couldn't bear to give Norrington an unattractive chick.  He deserves better.)  And judging by your comments, it worked.  My deepest thanks!  You don't know how much your approval means to me!_

**Chapter Four:  Down on Yer Luck**

_The next evening, aboard the Greymalkin…_

The cabin that Will's outrageously overpriced passage had purchased was approximately the size of a supply closet, with barely room for the berth within it.  In fact, he rather suspected that a supply closet was exactly what it had been before he had arrived at the ship.  He had been forced to take the rather threadbare hammock down and nail it back up again to prevent himself from being pitched onto the floor with the rats during the night, and it rather unnerved him to see the single lantern swinging aggressively over his head.  If the seas grew much rougher, there would be the risk of getting lamp oil spilled all over him.

By purchasing himself some extra food at a more reasonable price from one of the dock merchants, Will managed to save himself the three or four shillings it would have cost him to eat with the crew.  And that was fine with him, for he had no real desire to interact with this disagreeable lot, not even when they dropped anchor to investigate a wreck on one of the reefs off Jamaica.  On the other hand, having nothing but the same _very_ close four walls to look at for hours on end did very little for his peace of mind.  Quite the opposite; it freed up far too much time to think about Elizabeth.

The most intense of his emotions seemed to have worn off, leaving him with a sense of numbness, of being too tired to feel anymore.  His grief had dulled to a persistent ache in his chest, bitter to feel but survivable, until one memory or another struck him with a new stab of pain, like being endlessly buffeted on an unpredictable sea, never knowing when the next wave would strike.

He found himself remembering most clearly the eight years before Jack Sparrow had arrived in Port Royal, especially those first few years when they'd both been children, not quite so strictly held to the social divides between their classes.  Will had been one of the only children near Elizabeth's age being raised with civilized manners, and even an apprentice blacksmith was a preferable playmate in her father's eyes than the sailors' children.  

_ "How is it that you do not know the pirate song?" Elizabeth demanded as they scampered along the road near the governor's mansion._

_ "I've never heard it!" Will panted, struggling to keep up with Governor Swann's energetic daughter.  She had been sitting in lessons nearly all day, but had been allowed outside to play as a reward for her good behavior.  Will, on the other hand, had been going back and forth to the docks all morning  carrying charcoal for Mister Brown.  But Elizabeth wanted to run, and she could usually get Will to do what she wanted when he had leave from the blacksmith to play._

_ "It goes like this," she said, at last coming to a stop outside the gate so Will could catch his breath.  "'We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot!  Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!  We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot!  Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!'"_

_ "Should you be singing that?" Will exclaimed._

_ "Why not?  I think it would be very exciting to meet a pirate!"_

_Will scowled.  "I don't.  If I met a pirate, I'd kill him!"_

_ "Oh, really?" Elizabeth grinned at him and pulled open the gate.  "Come on, then!"_

_ "Into your yard?" Will asked hesitantly._

_ "Of course!  Come on!"_

_She led him behind the mansion to the place where the servants did the washing and polishing of the household wares.  Giggling in a way that made it quite clear to Will that they were **not** supposed to be there, Elizabeth procured from the various baskets a dirty green table napkin, what looked like part of a chandelier chain, several pieces of silver, and two dirty butter knives.  She tied  the napkin around her head and stuck the piece of chain over her ear.  "There!  I'm a pirate!  Arrr!"_

_It was too much, the sight of her in her pink day dress with a dirty napkin around her curled hair and that silly link stuck to her ear.  Will snatched up one of the butter knives.  "All right then!  I challenge you to a duel!"_

_ "Avast!" Elizabeth shrieked, grabbing the other._

_ "A-what?"_

_ "Avast, silly!  That's what pirates say!"_

_ "Stand and fight, you scurvy dog!" Will shouted through his laughter.  "I'm a captain in His Majesty's navy, and I'm here to put an end to your plundering!"_

_ "Haha!  You can't catch a pirate!  'Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!  We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack!  Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!  Maraud and embezzle and even hijack!  Drink up, me hearties, yo ho! Yo ho! Yo ho!  A pirate's life for me!'"_

_Will joined in, and soon they were both capering around the yard shrieking, "'Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!'"_

Will bit his lip.  That escapade had ended in a severe scolding for both of them, but surprisingly Elizabeth's stern tutrix had believed her when she confessed to putting Will up to it.  From what he remembered and what Elizabeth said, as a child she'd been quite the hellion.  It made his lips curve and his eyes sting at the same time.  There was no point in dwelling on it.  Those days were gone—they'd been gone for a long time.  Elizabeth had hoped at first that an end to her school lessons would give her more time to play, but with the end to grammar and arithmetic had come the beginning of different kinds of lessons, that had prevented her more and more from leaving the house to run and play with the blacksmith's apprentice.  

And at the same time, Will had been growing into a lad who was good for more than fetching and carrying, and Jonathan Brown had begun actively training him in the smith's craft.  With that training had come lessons about the society in which they lived, and the lines that could not be crossed, and Will even now was uncertain when exactly it had been that he had realized that Elizabeth was on the other side of one of those lines.  He could not be sure, but he knew that it must have been around the same time he had instinctively begun calling her Miss Swann when his errands took him near her.

At the time, he had regretted the situation merely for the loss of a friend, and one to whom he felt he owed his life.  It was not until he had happened by Admiral Kensington's house to repair a broken lock just as a ball was ending that his feelings for Elizabeth had changed.  

It had been the lock to the servants' quarters separate from the house, and as the butler had been leading Will around back when the front door had opened, revealing a laughing crowd of elegantly-clothed guests.  Will had paused, taking in the fine clothes and happy voices enviously, when a tall, graceful woman in a shimmering lavender gown had suddenly turned and looked directly at him.  His heart had nearly stopped:  it was Elizabeth Swann, the governor's daughter, his old playmate.  He had stared, dumbfounded by her sparkling eyes, her flawless skin so slightly flushed and glowing in the setting sun, the way her curled hair bounced off her shoulders and neck.

And she had _spoken_ to him!  By now, having been educated in class behavior for a few years, he had fully expected a society woman, even one he had once called a friend, to completely ignore him.  But Elizabeth had not.  Her eyes—_dear God, her eyes—_had lit up at the sight of him, as if seeing him delighted her just as much as the dancing and good food and music she had just come from enjoying.  And right there, right in front of her equally-elite companions, she had called to him.  _"Will?  Will Turner?"_

Will had wondered if his face would ever lose the blush that had risen to it right then.  As the eyes of the rest of the uppercrust crowd fell on him, he had stammered, _"G-good evening, Miss Swann."_

_ "I haven't seen you in months!  What on earth have you been doing?"_ she had asked, stopping on the front steps.

_ "My master expects me very often at the smithy, Miss Swann,"_ he had murmured, feeling as though something so beautiful ought not to be speaking to a lowly character like him.  Elizabeth had laughed, looking as if she might even say something else, but then her father had come out and ushered her away to the carriage.  And Will had stared after them, his heart turning somersaults in his chest and wondering what had just happened.

He was jerked from his bitter thoughts by a sudden wild lurch from the ship that sent his berth swinging so violently that he was pitched onto the floor.  But that was where fortune smiled on him, for the lantern fell from its hook a split-second later and set the material on fire.  Cursing, Will yanked the thing down and beat it out, then threw open the cabin door, stuffing his money pouch into his shirt.

Shouts and wildly ringing bells from above let him know at once something was afoot.  He joined the stampede of men rushing up on deck into rain and a rising wind, in time to hear the captain bellowing at the crew for more sail.  "We gotta outrun 'em!"

The chaos made it difficult to tell exactly what the threat was.  Will's first assumption was pirates, for a little pinnace like the _Greymalkin_ would be vulnerable to an attack, or perhaps even a British naval vessel, for he wasn't entirely sure that these characters weren't engaged in a bit of piracy themselves.  But the horror on the faces of the sailors who were not rushing about trying to speed the ship made him wonder, and turning to look behind them, he searched for what could possibly be cause for such terror.

_Oh God…not again…_

There was indeed a ship coming after them, but how the thing could sail at all was beyond Will.  The sails hung in ragged tatters from the rigging, which also seemed to be hanging off the masts, and the hull rode low in the water.  Far too low for any normal ship to be seaworthy, but this eerie vessel was nonetheless sailing directly toward them, and at no small speed either.  

The _Greymalkin_ lurched again as they were struck by a wave, and Will grabbed the side to keep his balance, his breath coming fast as the men babbled around them.  "That bleedin' idiot!  I told 'im lost ships is better left alone!"

"It ain't possible!  It can't be!  Ain't no such thing as a ghost ship!"

"What the devil do you call that?!  No real ship could keep a-sail in that mess!  Them that was lost aboard 'er is comin' after us!"

"Who took stuff offa that wreck?!" the captain shouted, coming down from the wheel.  "Throw 'em overboard!  Now, while we still got a chance!  And get to the oars!  You there!  Boy!" Will looked at him.  "Can ye row?"  The man's eyes were wild with fright.

Will nodded, not liking the looks of their pursuer anymore than the other men did.  He struggled to calm his racing heart as he took a place on one of the starboard oars.  The remnants of the sails were white, not black.  That was not the _Black Pearl_.  Even in her worst condition under Captain Barbossa, the _Black Pearl_ had never looked like that.  "'Urry it up, men!  Take yer oars!  Now!  And…pull!  Pull!"

In time with the others, Will pulled his oar with all his might, even as the storm blew more rain into his face.  "Bloody 'ell, we 'aven't gotta prayer!" the sailor in front of him wailed.  "They's put the wind against us!  The likes o' them 'as the sea on their side!"

"Shut up and row, you fool!" Will shouted back.  

A wave slammed into the _Greymalkin's_ side, sending a powerful blast of water through the oar space right into Will.  Gasping and coughing, he fought to keep his oar under control, but it suddenly felt as if there was no water to stroke against.  There was a sickening _crack, and suddenly he was looking __down the deck at the port side.  "She's listing!  We've 'it something!"_

Will scrambled to his feet (there was no point in continuing trying to row against air) and staggered against a mast.  Blinking through the rain, he could see the ghastly ship was very close, apparently not affected at all by the weather conditions.  "What do they want?" he shouted frantically at one of the sailors.

"Want their relics back, is what they want!" the man yelled back.  "Warned the cap'n, I did!  The sea don't give up 'er spoils!"

"What?!" Will demanded, but the _Greymalkin_ lurched again, this time forward.  Hearing the cracking and grinding noise below told Will that the ship had been impacted on something in the water, a rock or a reef, no doubt, and was now being forced off in a fashion that would tear the hull wide open.  _We're lost._

Apparently, the captain knew it as well.  "Abandon ship!  Abandon ship!" went the cry, and the men scrambled to free the one small boat.  Will ran to help them, freeing it from most of its moorings as the crew clambered aboard.  He leapt aboard just as they were shoving the boat free from the doomed pinnace with their oars, but something caught.  "Someone cut that line!" bellowed the captain, pointing at a single rope still securing the longboat to the _Greymalkin_.

Will yanked a knife from his boot and scrambled to cut the line, only to discover that it was not a line, but a chain.  "What idiot thought of this?!" he shouted into the wind, panic attempting to catch him in its claws.

"God, we're dead!" someone wailed as the _Greymalkin began pitching further over.  In another few minutes the pinnace would go down and drag the longboat with her._

"No!  Rope's up there, see?" another sailor yelled, pointing, and sure enough, the higher part of the line holding the boat fast was rope.

"Brilliant," Will muttered, and, holding the knife in his teeth, pulled himself up the line, swinging wildly in the wind and waves.  He reached the side of the ship and pulled himself onto the hull.  He didn't dare lose his grip and fall into the rough seas.  Clutching one of the oar ports as tightly as he could, he sawed desperately at the rope.  

"Come on!" he could hear the sailors yelling.

"You try doing this with one hand," he grunted, clinging to the ship as he cut frantically.  The rope seemed to take forever to fray, then all at once, it gave way, snapping sharply as the waves yanked the boat free.  "Hey!" he turned frantically, fearing the boat would row out of his reach, and froze in horror.  The dead ship was directly alongside them now; it was huge, a Spanish galleon…or it had been.  And the sailors in the boat were being pushed by the waves directly in front of it.  _ "Look out!"_

The crew of the _Greymalkin_ were so intent on rowing through the waves away from their own doomed craft that they failed to see the ghastly wreck looming over them until it was too late.  Screams rang out and a few men managed to leap overboard before the giant ship slammed into the longboat, shattering it as though it were made of toothpicks.  Will pulled himself back over the side of the _Greymalkin, watching in horror, as a few men swam desperately for safety but were pulled under the pounding waves.  Not that he himself was in much better straits, trapped on the sinking pinnace.  The _Greymalkin_ lurched forward again, and Will could feel the nose going down.  Then movement aboard the galleon caught his eye, and he looked again._

His heart nearly stopped.  There were men on board.

He remembered the cursed pirates aboard the _Black Pearl, but this was something else.  Something __very different.  The stinging wind and pounding rain blurred his view, but he could see men, wearing the tattered, half-rotted uniforms of Spanish sailors, standing along the port side of the galleon, watching the __Greymalkin sink.  Their skin was white and ashen, their eyes blank and staring, and seaweed hung from their hair and bodies.  They did not seem as alive as the __Black Pearl's crew had.  If they were living in any fashion at all, they did not seem to find Will or even the dying pinnace especially interesting.  They simply watched.  Will stared back, open-mouthed in horror._

The _Greymalkin_ shuddered, and he looked forward in time to see that the wind and waves were driving her directly into a jutting chunk of rock.  Cursing, tore himself from the side and staggered across the slanting deck, searching for anything that he might be able to float on in the surging sea.  Coming up empty-handed, he began to curse furiously in panic, and grabbed onto the mast to brace himself as the pinnace sailed to her death.

The _Greymalkin_ slammed into the rocks with a force that sent Will tumbling down the deck like so much helpless flotsam, and the impact broke the ship up immediately.  Will clawed for some purchase as the deck splintered into fragments around him, then he was in the water, buffeted by waves and debris.  Struggling to keep his head up, he shouted instinctively, even though he knew it to be in vain, for there was no one to hear and even in his terror, he did not especially want to find himself aboard that ghostly Spaniard.

As the debris of the _Greymalkin_ was scattered over the waves, Will desperately swam after a large floating chunk of deck, his arms aching and lungs burning, recognizing it as his one chance for survival in these seas.  Waves broke over his head more and more often, and his legs seemed to grow heavier, dragging him down…_oh God._  

And then…salvation!  Another wave pushed the piece of deck back toward him, hitting him right in the face, but he managed to grab it.  The seas tried to pull it from his grasp, but he growled furiously, his fingers stubbornly refusing to let go.  He held on, buffeted and battered, tasting blood in his mouth from where the chunk of hull had split his lip, coughing as waves still broke over his head, but afloat.  He pushed himself gradually further up on the makeshift raft as the waves at last began to calm.  _Heavens, I may actually survive this!_

He was finally able to crawl all the way up onto the chunk of deck, so exhausted and shaken that the irony of the situation did not even occur to him.  Getting himself reasonably balanced across the raft, he blinked through the rain back at the galleon.  The ship was still there, close to where the _Greymalkin_ had broken up.  Then even as Will watched, the galleon's already-unseaworthy hull began to settle slowly, and water bubbled up around as the ship sank slowly back into the waves.  The pale figures of the Spaniards on board were still there, and Will stared in fascinated horror, for not a one of them moved even as the sea rushed over the deck.  The masts slid below the water, and then the sea was wide and empty around him, save the debris of the _Greymalkin and a few rocks piercing the surface._

_God.  What had he just seen?_

His raft rocked over the waves, and Will wondered how long the dubious protection would last.  _And even if it does, how long will **I** last with no food or water?  You have some luck, Will Turner.  There was no sign of land or life as far as his eyes could see, only the waves.  Alone, trapped, and exhausted, he laid his head against the wet wood and let his mind wander away.  __Elizabeth…_

***

_Tortuga, late that night…_

Elizabeth was quite tired.  Despite having been given her own cabin, she had not slept well at all.  Every creak or footstep had had her jerking upright in the rickety berth, her heart pounding as she clutched at her pistol.  There was not a doubt in her mind that Captain Porter and his men were going to make another attempt on her belongings before they docked at Tortuga.  She was very apprehensive about going back on deck again.

A knock on the cabin door made her jump.  "Yes?!" she blurted, disgusted at the way her voice shook.  The almost-sleepless night and day aboard the _Mad Molly_ had given her mind plenty of time to mull about all the things that could befall her on this mad escapade, and she was now suffering from an acute crisis of nerves.

The door opened to reveal one of the other pirates, looking just as speculatively at her as Captain Porter had.  "Cap'n says ter tell ye we've arrived, Missy.  Yeh'll be wantin' ter disembark."  Nodding wearily, Elizabeth picked up her things in Will's bundled cloak, keeping the pistol in plain view of her escort, and waited for him to precede her.  

Up on deck, she found, as she had feared, Captain Porter and the entire crew waiting by the gangplank.  The captain gestured grandly beyond the ship.  "There ye are, Miss Turner!  Tortuga!  Delivered safe and sound, as promised."

Elizabeth looked at the activity beyond the docks and found the view anything but inspiring.  It was nothing like the bustling business of Kingston Harbor and Port Royal.  Total chaos reigned supreme here, the kind of drunken debauchery that was confined only to the absolute worst districts of Port Royal.  What sort of lion's den had she walked into?  Forcing the apprehension from her voice, she said, "Very well, Captain.  I'll be getting off, then."

"And the other 'alf of the fee ye promised?" Captain Porter asked.

Walking past him to the gangplank, she turned and poured the remaining pearls from the string into his hand.  Hearing a mutter from the crew and sensing them shifting forward, she whirled and raced down the plank onto the dock as fast as her legs could carry her, hearing a roar of laughter from behind.  "Warned ye it weren't good to be flashin' around valuables, Missy!"  Captain Porter's voice echoed after her.  "Ye won't be getting' far!"

He was right.  She had no idea where she was running, but she had not even reached the first row of buildings when no less than six burly men stepped out of the shadows to surround her.  She shrieked, bringing her gun to bear, but she knew even the pistol would not save her from all of them, and no one came to her aid.  "We 'ear you got some pretties on ye, pretty," growled one of them.  "We're just poor souls down on our luck.  Mighty generous of ye to share.  Share nicely an' maybe we'll letcha go."

Elizabeth swallowed hard, the gun shaking in her hand.  It was too dark to see their faces; she could only tell that they were all large, well-muscled, and smelt of rum.  They reminded her of Barbossa's men.  She would _not_ cry.  "Stay back," she warned in a trembling voice.  

"I'll reckon ye ain't so great a shot that ye can kill all six of us, pretty."

"Perhaps not, but I can kill a few of you, and I doubt if any of you wish to volunteer," she shot back, her mind racing as she tried to edge away from them.

"Ain't no sense gettin' roughed up over a few pretties, pretty.  Jes hand 'em over an' we'll let ye on yer way."

Furiously, Elizabeth fumbled with one hand into her pouch.  If she could just get enough room to run.  "Then stand aside.  I won't give you anything unless my path is clear."

The leader of the group chuckled, and she caught a flash of white teeth in the darkness.  "Step aside, then, lads.  Make a lil' room fer the lady."  He gave her an extravagant bow, and she edged toward the space.  "Mark me, pretty.  Don' think to run; ye won't get far.  But drop them jewels an' we won't 'ave much cause ter chase ye."

Reaching into her pouch, Elizabeth grabbed the handful of jewelry.  "Fine!"  She hurled it at them, the coins and gemstones sparkling in the torchlight, and heard their grunts of laughter as they pounced on the loot.  But as they surged toward her, she grabbed the spare dress Mary had given her and threw it up in the air as well, hoping to stall them for just a few seconds, then turned and fled.  Choking back sobs, she ran through three streets until she realized there truly was no one chasing her.  Then she stumbled to a halt and fumbled for her pouch, looking inside.  "Oh, damn!"  she nearly began crying again.  She'd lost not only the jewelry, but most of the coins and bank notes, not that paper money was likely to be any good here.  She had perhaps four shillings left, and she was lost in a lawless town without the faintest idea of where to start searching for news of Will or Jack Sparrow.

Catching her breath and running a fist across her face, she forced herself to calm down and think.  It was only then that she bothered to get her bearings.  Directly in front of her was what at first glance appeared to be an inn…and she supposed in the barest sense of the word it was.  But there were more drunks stumbling out of the place than the seediest tavern  she had ever seen in Port Royal, barely waiting until they got outside the door to launch into brawls.  Stepping reflexively backward, Elizabeth looked over her shoulder to the establishment across the street…where an array of underdressed and over-made-up women were gathered outside the entrance like a shopkeeper's wares, a few of them eyeing the strange female on the street with combined curiosity and contempt.  From what she could tell, the rest of the street, and the streets beyond this one, boasted essentially the same sorts of places.

Elizabeth gulped.  _Welcome to Tortuga._

***

_At sea, between Jamaica and Hispaniola, the following night…_

The crew of the _Lady Laurel_ was just changing to the night watch when the lookout spotted a splash of light upon the dark sea.  "Oy!  What's that?"

"See something, O'Malley?" yelled the first mate from the helm.

"There's somethin' out there!  'Bout twenty degrees starboard!" O'Malley pointed.

The crew went curiously over to the side, peering into the inky darkness.  "Could just be a bit o' driftwood," said one of the men in the rigging, peering down at the sea.

"Don' think so.  Me instincts are sayin' debris," O'Malley replied.

"You an' yer bloody instincts.  Ye always think we've found somethin'--"

"There!  It's a raft!  Look sharp, there's a man aboard!" O'Malley yelled, seeing the floating form come into clear view.  They had sailed right past it.

"Come about!" bellowed the mate.  "Bring us alongside!  Krighton!  Get the cap'n!"

"Aye!"

O'Malley watched from the crow's nest as the captain came on deck.  The crew awaited his order.  "Bring him aboard."

One of the men tethered himself to a line, disappeared over the side, and then climbed back up a moment later with the shipwrecked man slung over his shoulder.  "'E's alive."

"Lay him down here and fetch the surgeon," ordered the captain.

The limp form was laid out on the deck.  "Not much more than a lad, is 'e?" someone said.

"'Ow long you reckon 'e's been adrift?"

"Dunno, but I hear tales that men left afloat too long go mad with sun and thirst.  Wonder if this one's still got 'is wits left."

In the light of the lanterns, the sailors could see the heavy sunburn reddening the boy's face.  The ship's surgeon pushed his way through the curious men to examine him.  "Pulse is strong.  Been out there maybe a day or so, but not much longer.  Better get 'im below.  'E'll take sick out on deck."

"And get him out of those clothes," added the captain, gesturing for two of the men to carry the lad below decks.

As the crew obeyed, Krighton found a pouch beneath the boy's shirt.  "Aha!  What 'ave we 'ere?"  He shook it and was rewarded with a telltale jingle.  "Well, well!  Provided for, ain't we?"

A hand caught his wrist.  "I'll take that, Krighton, if you don't mind."

"Awww, Cap'n!  It's salvage!"

"A man's not, as you well know.  We're short on hands and this lad looks able, if we can get him back on his feet.  You know the rules."  Krighton grumbled, but relinquished the money bag.  The captain stowed it in his own pocket.  "Bring the boy to the sick berth."

***

The first thing Will was aware of was the sensation of both floating and sinking.  He had never truly appreciated the stability of a ship until spending a full day bobbing helplessly over the waves atop a chunk of wrecked hull.  He had always thought he had good sea legs, and had never disgraced himself, but by the time the sun had come up the morning after the _Greymalkin_ went down, he'd been ill.

And daylight had brought a whole new array of torments.  Will had thought the desert would seem hospitable in comparison.  The blazing sun had struck him from two directions, above below.  It had been as though he was floating helplessly across a giant mirror  There had been no escaping it, and not long after noon he had gone completely blind from searching the horizon for any signs of hope for rescue.  Then he had simply closed his eyes and hidden his face, trying to protect his exposed skin from the sun.

Thirst had tortured him as well, a cruel, rending thirst that had been made worse by the sounds of lapping water all around him.  What a vicious taunt it seemed.  But every man knew that it was folly to drink from the sea.  

Even so, by the time the glare had begun to recede as the sun finally set, Will had been so ill and thirsty that he nearly succumbed to the temptation to drink the salty water.  The seductive lapping of the waves would probably have gotten the better of him—if his body had not chosen that moment to drop into unconsciousness.

When he slowly began creeping back toward awareness, he had no reason to believe he was not still on the raft.  His world still pitched and rocked, and glare still burned its way through his eyelids.  His skin felt scorched, but he himself felt desperately cold.  Will moaned, miserable.  Then something very odd happened.  A hand touched his forehead.  He flinched; it felt as if the touch might tear his skin right from his limbs, he was so badly sunburnt.  Then a voice floated out of the haze.  "Think 'e's comin' around, Cap'n."

Was someone now with him on the raft?  Will was too weak and disoriented to make his mind and senses work properly.  He was unaware that his soaked clothes were gone, replaced by a dry blanket.  He groaned again, and someone asked, "Wakin' up there, lad?"

God, he was so thirsty!  "Water," he tried to plead, but his tongue was too thick in his mouth.

"Patience, boy.  Here."  Something hard poked at his blistered, cracked lips, but the next sensation would stay with him until his dying day:  the sweet caress of cool liquid across his mouth.  

_Oh God!_  Will's hand snatched at the metal cup desperately, and he opened his mouth, letting the water, clear, sweet water, flow down his parched throat.  He gulped furiously for several seconds until the same hand that had bestowed the gift now tried to take it away.  "Easy, lad!  You'll choke yourself!"

_No!  Give it back!_  Will tried to protest but did not succeed in making more than another raspy moan.  After a moment, the cup did return, but his mysterious benefactor held it, and Will was vaguely aware of being admonished not to drink so quickly.  He did slow down, but clutched at it like a rudder for his sanity.

***

Gareth Sullivan, surgeon aboard the _Lady Laurel, _managed to keep the boy from gulping the water too fast, in spite of his near-delirium.  In fact, the lad's condition told Sullivan that he'd not been lost at sea for more than forty-eight hours, or he'd be in a far worse state.  Sullivan had always thought personally that he would rather drown.  At least that was a quick death, and this boy was in a fair mess after only a day or two on the open water.  At last, he was completely sated, and mumbled what might have been gratitude.   "Can ye wake up now, boy?" he asked again.

The lad visibly tried, but then squeezed his eyes shut tighter.  "Bright," he hissed as his eyes stung.

"What ails him?" demanded the captain

"I don't know, 'e—oh, o'course," Sullivan slapped his forehead.  "Been in the open sea all day, we 'ad a clear sky.  'E's 'alf-blind.  Easy, boy, we'll dim the light."  He dimmed the lantern and moved it away so that he and the captain could barely see in the low light, but it wouldn't pain the boy's injured eyes.  "There.  'E'll be able to see now."

Forcing still-leaden eyelids open, the boy blinked weakly at the two men standing over him.  He looked confused, as though wondering how he was no longer on the raft.  Sullivan wasn't surprised; in his experience men stranded at sea felt for days afterwards like they were still bobbing up and down.  The boy shivered even under two blankets, the places where his skin had been uncovered beneath the sun's rays were vividly burned.  The captain stepped forward.  "What's your name, lad?"

Moistening his swollen lips, the boy whispered something, too faintly for them to hear it.  "Speak up," said Sullivan, as he and the captain both leaned closer.

Drawing a shaky breath, the boy rasped out, "Turner.  Will Turner."  But even that taxed his weak body too much, and his eyes closed again, his head sagging limp in the berth.

"'Fraid that's all we're gonna get out of 'im now, Cap'n," Sullivan said apologetically.  "'E's still too weak.  Give 'im another day an' 'e'll be able to give ye yer answers."  The captain did not seem to be listening.  "Sor?" 

"Aye, Sullivan.  I'll come talk to him again later, then.  Keep an eye on him."  The captain cast one more long look at the boy, then slowly walked out.

Sullivan shook his head to himself.  Captain Atticus Willem had always been a rather odd character, but he was a good man, and a smart sailor, and his men were fiercely loyal to him.  It wouldn't surprise Sullivan in the least if the boy they'd rescued wound up staying on the ship; they'd picked up three other crewmen that way.  Captain Willem had a bit more compassion than one might suspect of a man in his position.  

Sullivan chuckled to himself; "compassion" wasn't a term one often heard in this trade.  But Captain Willem had kept the _Lady Laurel_ afloat and profitable for nearly two years, despite the difficulties men in their profession had faced in recent years.  And for that, the crew accepted his eccentricities—especially since they usually worked to the men's advantage.

_ 'E doesn't even mind when 'e 'ears 'em sayin' 'e's slightly daft.  A good cap'n none can deny, even if 'e's a bit of  a strange duck._

_For a pirate._

***

_Tortuga, that same night…_

Night had fallen on the disreputable port once again, and Elizabeth was growing more desperate with every passing minute.  Hoarding her last few shillings, wearing a maid's dress, a man's cloak, and a lady's fine (but highly uncomfortable) shoes, she had wandered the streets all day without rest, seeking any word about Jack Sparrow or Will.  Her search had ended as empty as her stomach, for all she'd had to eat was some bread that she'd bought this morning after walking all night.  Dread gripped her heart for every penny she parted with.

Anxiety over Will and the robbery last night had kept her moving all night and all day, but tonight she would need to find shelter, for she didn't think she could remain on her feet much longer.  But that of course would mean interacting with the slightly less-than-hospitable denizens of Tortuga, and what contact she'd had with them thus far had not been encouraging.  Heaving a resigned sigh, she sought out the least seedy-looking inn she could find.  (The proprietor threw the drunks out all the way across the street.)

As the large, heavyset man with straggling, graying black hair returned from depositing another unconscious customer in the opposite gutter, she stepped toward him.  He scowled at her, "Whadda ye want?"

"To inquire about the price of a room," she said steadily, though she felt very small.

"Cost ye two shillins a night.  Food's extra," he grunted.

She could have cried.  "Is there no inn in this area that costs less?"  At that rate, she'd be penniless by sunset tomorrow, and something told her that for better or for worse, her stay in Tortuga would be much longer.

The innkeeper sneered at her, not at all moved by her despair.  "Aye, lass, there's cheaper places, if ye don' mind sharin' space with the likes o' them," he jerked his head at the drunks he'd just thrown out.  "'Course if ye ain't got the cash fer a room, reckon yeh'll be sharin' their space anyway."  Summarily dismissing her as a potential patron, he turned back to the inn.

"Wait!" Elizabeth blurted frantically.  She could think of no other solution except… "What if I could work?"  The question nearly ended in a sob, and she cursed herself.

The innkeeper paused, then looked her up and down .  He jerked his head down the street at one of the brothels.  "Them's where there's work for the likes o' ye."

"I don't want that kind of work," she said tightly, feeling her stomach turn.  It hardly helped that she hadn't slept in nearly two days.

The innkeeper wrinkled his nose.  "S'pose we could use some 'elp waitin' tables.  But yeh'll sleep in the back room, then.  Good rooms're fer payin' customers."

She swallowed hard.  "And how will I eat?"

Grinning slyly, like a cat over a trapped mouse, the innkeeper replied cheerfully, "Gimme good work an' yeh'll get food an' a sleepin' place, Missy.  What d'ye say?"

Elizabeth shivered.  She knew better than to hope that the food and shelter he offered would resemble anything she had once considered adequate, but things had changed.  Dramatically.  For a moment, the memory of her own soft bed in Port Royal struck like a violent wave, seductively vivid, but then she fell back to reality.  She did not have the money to buy herself a passage back to Jamaica…even if she had wanted to give up.  When it came to it, she could not bear to think of turning back after only a day of searching.

It was this thought that allowed her to steel herself for what was likely coming.  She looked up at the innkeeper again.  "Agreed."

The big man laughed uproariously.  "Well, come on in, then!  Welcome to my 'umble establishment!"  He grabbed her around the shoulders, making her flinch, and propelled her through the doors.

A barrage of noise—laughter, babbling, raucous voices, and clattering dishes—assaulted her ears the moment they entered.  Before her eyes was a dizzying scene of men and women whirling between wooden tables, downing mugs of liquor and mouthfuls of food, hanging over the furniture—and each other—and overall presenting a clear scene of the sorts of places Elizabeth would never have dared venture near back in Port Royal.  As it was, the only thing that prevented her from fleeing back out was the hard, bitter knowledge that she had nowhere else to go.

Over the din, the innkeeper yelled, "Yer to assist Dobson, over there!" He pointed to an even beefier man behind the bar, pouring drinks from huge kegs and bottles.  "An' me, if I call ye.  Jes' do what 'e tells ye."  He gave her a shove forward.  "Oy!  Dobson!  Got an extra pair of 'ands fer ye!"

With his jowly face, huge, bushy grey hair—and eyebrows—Dobson looked even less inviting than his employer.  His eyebrows were like hairy gray caterpillars which seemed to crawl toward his nose as he furrowed his brow at the slender figure creeping toward him through the mob.  All he said was, "Ain't no point in mincing, love.  Yeh'll never get through that lot without usin' yer elbows."  He plunked two mugs onto the bar in front of her.  "Take these to that there corner table.  Step lively and don' spill."

Wide-eyed, Elizabeth stared at him for a few moments before silently reaching for the mug handles.  They were heavier than she had expected, and she tightened her grip before weaving nervously through the mob.  Failing to take Dobson's advice to shove her way through, for she desired to be as inconspicuous as possible, she ducked and edged her way over to the table where two men sat dickering over something she didn't care to hear, and set down the mugs.  Then she turned and scurried back to the dubious safety of the bar, trying to ignore the leers and lewd noises the men made on noticing their new server.

Dobson waggled his extraordinary eyebrows at her as she returned.  "Not so 'ard, is it?"  At her half-horrified look as yet another men deliberately brushed past her, he smiled dryly.  "Get used to it, love.  Ain't no avoidin' it.  These four go to that table there."

And so it went.  Elizabeth tried to make her vision tunnel to nothing but the mugs she was bidden to carry and the tables they were bound for, and to hear only Dobson or the innkeeper, whose name she learned was Fudler.  She walked as fast as she could, trying in vain to avoid slaps in the posterior from amorous drunks, but by flatly ignoring them (and occasionally flat-out running back to the bar) she was able to escape the worst of their attentions.  Actually, it was rather fortunate for her that the whole situation elicited such combined apprehension and disgust; if her heart had not been pounding so hard with all her senses in full "fight or flight," she might have noticed how exhausted she was.  It had now been two days since she'd had a night's sleep.

Dobson kept a rather curious eye on her as she worked.  "New to Tortuga, ain't ye, love?"

She had not said a single word since Fudler had brought her into this hideous place, mostly out of sheer shock, and now she simply stared at the barkeep, not quite comprehending the question.  He shook his head at her wide, confused eyes, and handed her another pair of mugs.  A little while later, Fudler came back from whatever he'd been doing in the crowd, and asked Dobson loudly, "'Ow's the girl workin'?"

"Aye, she's pullin' 'er weight, if ye don' mind that she's skittish as a spring filly," Dobson said.  At that moment, Elizabeth jerked away from a man attempting to pinch her arm, and they both laughed.  "Shies like one too!  Oy, girl!  'Urry it up!"  She trotted the last few steps like an obedient pony, and Dobson shoved two more mugs at her.  "Ye got a name?"

She blinked at him.  She had told her name—or rather, the name she intended to have—to Captain Porter, and he had sent men to rob her.  Here and now, feeling like a lamb inside a den of hungry wolves, she found that her voice was one of the few things left that she hadn't sold.  She might not be in one of those brothels, but enduring the jeers and roving hands of an unwashed mob in exchange for bread and shelter, she almost felt that it did not matter.  And as she was not being paid in any way save with bread and shelter, she had no way of raising the money that would let her escape this place.  

Fudler and Dobson were still staring at her.  "I swear she wasn't mute when I met 'er outside," said Fudler, but shoved two more mugs at her.  "Said she wouldn' go to them 'ore'ouses.  'Ave it yer way, Prickly.  Jes' don' shirk yer duties and yeh'll fit in nice."  With a leer similar to the patrons' that made Elizabeth shudder, Fudler walked away.

***

Despite her initial hope that she would be able to sleep upon finding shelter, Elizabeth soon realized that because the busiest hours of the inn were from afternoon on, she would be expected to work through most of the night.  By around three in the morning the initial shock of finding herself in this situation had worn off, replaced by a grinding exhaustion that left the tankards of ale shaking in her hands.  She was also desperately hungry, and the smells of the food being bought by the men soon overcame her revulsion at the stink of rum, sweat, and other unspeakable odors.  

Fudler and Dobson had given up trying to taunt or coax a word out of her, and Fudler proudly bestowed the name "Nettle" upon her, because it sounded better than prickly, so he said.  Another day she might have found such a thing rather amusing, but not when she reflected on the fact that she, daughter of the governor of Jamaica, fiancé to a respectable man (despite what the gentry said of Will) was working as a barmaid in Tortuga, the slum of the Caribbean, being grabbed, slapped, and jeered at by pirates and scarlet women.  It made her wince to think what Will would do if he ever found out.  What she have enough dignity remaining for him?

She didn't think about it too much that night, because for the most part, she was too weary or too tense to let anything else occupy her mind.  Dodging roving hands without spilling drinks and answering impatient yells was rather taxing on one's ability to think, she quickly learned.  But…in a small way…for that she was grateful.  

Around five o'clock, many of the drunks began drifting off to bed or home or ship, and she was put to wiping down tables and sweeping floors.  The wiping she could manage well enough; sweeping proved to be far more difficult than it looked, and she had raised a choking cloud of dust and dirt into the air before Dobson responded to Fudler's irritated yell and demonstrated the proper way.  Elizabeth had taken the broomstick back with a silent nod, concentrating on not kicking up more than she swept away—and not getting within arms reach of any of the remaining customers.  

Shortly after six in the morning, she was half-leaning on the broomstick, rubbing at her eyes furiously, when Dobson remarked, "'Bout at the end of yer rope, ain't ya, lass?"  Elizabeth glanced back at him, startled because his voice sounded different spoken instead of shouted, then realized the common room was practically empty.  Glancing about, she took his remark as a rebuke for lapsing from her work and returned to it.  Then Dobson startled her again—she took a flying leap sideways, in fact—when he suddenly appeared at her side and put a hand on the broom.  "Enough, love.  Yer done for the night."  He nodded at a table in the corner, where a bowl of stew, some bread, and a mug were now sitting.  "'Ave some supper an' then I'll show ya where yeh'll be sleepin'."

At the very sight of the food, a lump of some unnamed emotion rose in her throat, and she stared at him in disbelief, unable to convince herself that it was not a trick.  Puzzled, Dobson said, "Better go, lass, yer food'll get cold."  She slowly walked over to the table and sat down, keeping wary eyes on him.  Seeing him watching her reminded Elizabeth painfully of Captain Barbossa, and despite the seductive smells, she could not bring herself to touch it.  She didn't want to feel like a captive again.  Dobson eyed her for a few more moments, then shook his head and walked away.  Once his back was turned, she ate.

The ale was bitter and watery, stew thin and salty, the meat was tough, the dumplings soggy, and the bread slightly stale.  It was ambrosia.  She ate all of it with shaking hands, then automatically picked up bowl and mug and brought them back.  Dobson had been drying tankards behind the bar and looked over at her when she returned.  "Done, then?  Come on.  Ye look dead on yer feet."

He was right, but she had no intention of admitting it.  As Dobson led her to another door in the inn, Fudler came out.  "Takin' the lady to 'er chamber, eh, Dobson?"  With a smug smile, he joined them.  "Follow me, then!"

Elizabeth wished he had not, and slowed down to keep Dobson between herself and Fudler.  The barman frowned at her.  Shooting her a rakish grin, Fudler opened the door to another room in the very back of the inn, holding out a lantern.  'Ere we are, Miss Nettle!  Accommodations o' choice fer ladies down on their luck!"

Elizabeth walked slowly past him into the room.  Large sacks of wheat and barley and flour were stacked through half of the space, leaving an area barely the size of a closet with a small window near the ceiling.  There was a rather worn rug tossed upon the bare floor.  Fudler set the lantern down next to the door, still grinning.  "Said good work'll getcha food an' a place to sleep.  'Ere's what I promised!"  Laughing, he closed the door.

The tiny space was engulfed in silence.  Elizabeth glanced at the rug, idly wondering if there were fleas in it.  There didn't seem to be, but she might not have cared if there had been, she was so tired.  As Will used to say, _beggars can't be choosers._

The memory brought an absurd smile to her face, and all at once, she laughed.  Pulling from her bodice her tiny, precious collection of coins, she counted them:  three shillings and sixpence.  It struck her as funny to realize she was now far poorer than Will Turner had ever been, and she began to giggle hysterically, despite the tears coursing their way down her face.  Wrapping Will's cloak around her, she sank onto the rug and curled up, tucking one arm under her head.  She'd seen slaves sleeping in kitchens this way.  Was she a slave?  No, she supposed not.  If she were, she'd be forbidden from leaving.  This place she could leave any time, for the gutter or the docks…or even the brothels, and it was doubtful Fudler or Dobson would try to stop her.  So why did she feel like a slave?  She had never imagined what a hopeless captor one's pocketbook could be.  

As exhaustion claimed her on the coarse rug upon the hard floor, she thought bitterly,  _You would not be so convinced that I was too good for you, Will Turner, if you could see me now._

***

_Aboard the _Lady Laurel_, the next day…_

Captain Atticus Willem went below deck after standing his usual morning watch and made his way to the sick berth.  Sullivan had told him the boy had taken a turn for the worse during the night; Willem had reason to be concerned, not wanting a potential addition to the crew to be lost.  This was the sort of concern for his fellow men that the crew were used to seeing, so they thought nothing of it.

The boy was indeed worse, tossing fitfully in the sick berth, mumbling in his sleep.  Feeling a twinge of alarm inside, Willem put a hand to the boy's forehead and found that it reminded him of a steamed fish.  Heat positively flowed from him.  The captain had already demanded to know if Sullivan could do anything to help, but the man had replied, _"Sorry, Cap'n.  Done all I can.  'E'll likely pull through; probably just thirst and sun stroke.  Give 'im a few more days."_

It was always said of Atticus Willem that he was a patient man…most of the time.  

But the crew might find him rather ornery today, for he had not slept well last night.  And on watch this morning he'd been quiet and consumed by his own thoughts, rather than his usual manner of boisterous cheer and keen concentration on their course and targets.  His men were probably wondering if the _Black Pearl_ was in the vicinity, for that was one of the only things that could make their captain nervous.  Not without reason, of course, as even a sturdy flute like the _Lady Laurel_ wouldn't stand much of a chance if the _Pearl_ decided she didn't like the fellow pirate's looks.  Even among pirates, it was a general consensus that a wise sailor stayed out of the _Pearl's_ way.

However, although that was not what bothered Captain Willem today, there was no need for his crew to know.  It would only complicate things, and pirates by nature rather disliked a complicated life.  Unfortunately, Atticus Willem had been cursed with the kind of complications in life that tended to follow one at sea and turn up again.

_"Turner.  Will Turner…"_

_Will Turner._

_William Turner._

_Will…_

Atticus frowned as the boy began to moan again.  "Easy, lad," he muttered, patting Will's shoulder awkwardly.

"Elizabeth," Will mumbled.  "Elizabeth."

Hm.  So the boy's story began to tell.  Atticus wondered who Elizabeth was, but figured there were perhaps three possibilities.  _Wife, fiancée, unrequited passion.  He's just at that age._

There was the part of the captain who wanted this boy off his ship and safely back in whatever port he'd come from just as soon as he was recovered.  Despite the sunburn, stubble, and roughened hands, Will Turner was a clean-cut youth, Atticus could tell.  From the sensible clothes to the worn-but-sturdy shoes, this was no pirate, but a working lad.  Probably not a sailor, or at least not regularly.  That sort of life was repellant to Atticus himself; slaving away at some two-bit trade all one's life, the same routine, over and over with no change, no adventure.  Atticus, like so many others, had that restlessness in his blood that demanded more than to simply work one's life away.  Like so many pirates, Atticus Willem had wanted to _live._

Then again, he mused as he heard the boy call for Elizabeth again, perhaps the mundane drag of life wouldn't seem so bad if one had something else to look forward to.  Atticus had been a bit of a romantic himself in his youth, but even his own one love hadn't been able to hold him against the call of the sea.  Maybe the blood wasn't so restless in this boy, and he could be happy with the adventures that came from having the right woman by one's side.

More easily this time, Atticus patted Will's shoulder, brushing damp locks of dark hair from his sunburnt face.  "Be the lucky one, son."

***

Though he had ordered his crew to keep an eye on their guest, the men noticed Captain Willem dropping by the sick berth quite frequently.  "How is he?"

"'Ain't woken up yet, but still ravin'," Krighton said.  He grinned slyly, "A woman's name, over an' over.  Got ourselves a lovelorn youth 'ere!"

The other men mooning about laughed, elbowing each other.  Captain Willem did not, but that was nothing new; Captain Willem had never had much of a sense of humor.  His crew had long since gotten used to his habits.

"Thinkin' 'e'll stay on, Cap'n?" asked O'Malley.

"That's up to him," replied the captain.

Krighton snorted.  "It'd be right proper after we went to the trouble to pull 'is carcass outta the drink."  Several of the men muttered in agreement.  "Or at least 'e can part wif a bit o' that gold!"

The remarks might have continued but for the captain's warning look.  Though quiet for a pirate, Atticus Willem was not a man to be trifled with.  At that moment, the object of their conversation began tossing again, and murmured, "Elizabeth."

"Bugger, she must be the best-lookin' lass in the Caribbean," muttered O'Malley.  "'Alf-drowned an' 'e's still lustin!"  The others chuckled a bit more quietly, glancing at the captain.

***

_Later…_

Gareth Sullivan dutifully sent for Captain Willem when the boy appeared near to coming around again.  The captain responded surprisingly quickly, coming below to the sick berth and watching intently as the lad slowly stirred himself awake.  "How soon?"

"Whenever 'e's ready," said Sullivan with a shrug.  "Won't be long, I reckon."  The captain frowned slightly, but fell back to waiting, and Sullivan was startled to see him fidgeting.  Atticus Willem was not the type to fidget.

After tossing and moaning for some time, the lad's dreams subsided at last.  Hazy brown eyes slowly opened, and the captain leaned over the berth.  "Welcome back, lad.  You've been fevered for days."

The boy blinked, then licked dry lips and whispered in a raspy voice, "Where am I?"

"Aboard my vessel, the _Lady Laurel_.  We made our introductions during one of your lucid moments, but you likely forgot.  I am Captain Atticus Willem."

"Will Turner," replied the lad with a hesitant nod.  Sullivan was curious to note that Captain Willem's fist was clenched.  Turner went on, "I presume…I'm in your debt, if it was you who rescued me."

"A sharp-eyed lookout and capable seamen bear more credit than I, Mr. Turner.  And this is our ship's surgeon, Gareth Sullivan."

Sullivan gave Will Turner a brief nod, weighing the boy's reactions.  A shade too honest for Sullivan's general ease—the boy wore his thoughts and questions too bare upon his face.  It was a mix of gratitude, curiosity, and caution the surgeon saw, rather than the cheerful greed and self-preservation most pirates tended to exude.  A moralist aboard could be bad for morale; he hoped Atticus knew that.

But for some reason, Atticus seemed to have taken a liking to Turner.  Reaching into his jacket, the captain pulled out a leather pouch.  "I believe this belongs to you."

Color fled the boy's face, and his mouth dropped open.  Slowly taking the money bag, he looked at Atticus with wide eyes.  "I…never expected to see this again."

Atticus smiled.  "You're welcome."

"Captain Willem…is there no way I can repay you for your trouble?" Turner asked hesitantly.  "If you require any additional hands, I am a capable sailor."

Atticus's vindicated expression told Sullivan that acquiring such an offer had been the man's intent all along, though why the captain was so intent on adding this rather upright boy to the crew was beyond him.  Still, he and the other men had long since learned it was better not to question Captain Willem's decisions, since he hadn't led them wrong so far.

With another smile, Captain Willem folded his arms.  "Sounds like a fair deal, Mr. Turner, if you're in earnest.  Welcome aboard."

_To Be Continued…_

**_Coming Up Next:_**_  We learn more about the crew of the **Lady Laurel** and the mysterious Captain Willem (go ahead and guess!) and the marooned Elizabeth has no choice but to go on learning how the other half lives.  Will Turner has information that leads him…willingly…on his first pirate raid, **and**…it's **LAND HO **for Captain Jack Sparrow!  Our favorite pirate makes his grand entrance at last!  But who will he meet?  The Governor of Jamaica's daughter-turned-Tortuga-barmaid or the blacksmith-turned-pirate?_

**Don't forget to review!  Reviewer responses and thanks in the next chapter, as usual!**


	6. Chapter Five: News, Good and Ill

**_Author's Notes:_**_  Many thanks to all my readers for the good wishes and understanding during my grueling first semester of law school.  I'm quite exhausted, but I've taken advantage of the winter holidays in order to write, write, write!  (Also slacked on all the catch-up studying I was supposed to be doing for next semester!)  Anyway, as you probably know, fanfiction.net has in its bureaucratic wisdom banned author note chapters, so I fear I can no longer post reviewer responses after my updates.  I considered putting them in this chapter, but that adds way too much length, and I don't think it's fair to make readers believe a chapter is longer than it is._

_So a general and heartfelt thanks to all of you for your many wonderful comments!  Please keep them coming and believe that I receive each and every one with squeals of delight and read them avidly when planning my next chapters.  Apologies again for the long waits, and without further ado, here it is…_

**Chapter Five:  News, Good and ****Ill******

_Tortuga__, a few days later…_

Elizabeth had never truly appreciated the meaning of the saying, "Talk is cheap," until she'd come to Tortuga.  Since the first night she had arrived at the Smashed Pumpkin, she had decided that the most likely method of self-protection in the snake pit was to draw as little attention to herself as possible.  So when Fudler and Dobson put her to work, she was silent, her eyes lowered, and while the patrons still leered and teased her, they dismissed her for their more flamboyant company as soon as she withdrew from their sight.  Which was the way she wanted it.

It was amazing how quickly turning invisible came to a girl who had been raised by society to be ornamental.  Then again, a bitter combination of self-preservation and shame soon swept away any remaining pretensions Elizabeth had about what it meant to be a governor's daughter.  Her past position in life and society mattered not at all here, with three shillings to her name, the name which she guarded like the last vestiges of her honor.  Fudler still called her "Nettle."

After all, it was not as if talking had availed her at all during her first day.  She was certain that the citizens of Tortuga knew something of the _Black Pearl_, but asking questions, she quickly learned, was a surefire way to ensure that any useful information was instantly sealed behind tight lips.

So she had simply stopped talking.  Dobson had nearly jumped out of his skin on her third night when she said that the table in the corner wanted another round.  _"Bloody 'ell, lass!__  I'd begun to think you really were mute!"_  She hadn't answered, so he had just responded to her silence the way he usually did:  shaking his head and turning back to the drinks.

When she was not working or sleeping (a space of time that lasted perhaps two hours out of the day, if that) she continued searching.  With questions clearly a worthless method of obtaining information, she resorted to wandering the docks at every opportunity—and eavesdropping.  There her newfound skill at being inconspicuous proved useful.

One afternoon, she was making her usual demure quarter of the docks when a conversation between the quartermaster of a derelict-looking caravel and a seedy merchant caught her ear.  "'Ow the devil am I gonna find space for thirty crates of rum?!" the merchant was demanding.  "The runners just came through yesterday an' our ware'ouses is full up!  Can't shift all that!"

The quartermaster jutted out his chest stubbornly.  "Well, I can't very well run it back 'ome till yer fit to receive it!"

"An' I can't take a cargo an' leave it on the docks!"

"Easy, man!  Yeh'll get it unloaded!" the quartermaster's face turned sly.  "There's a fine wind blowin' into Tortuga, ain't ye noticed?"

The merchant paused.  Elizabeth edged closer.  "Whatcher mean?"

"I mean, it's been…what…nigh two months since the _Black Pearl_ made port.  'Er Cap'n's gonna be gettin' mighty thirsty!"

The merchant narrowed his eyes while Elizabeth struggled to control the thumping of her heart.  "Yer thinkin' she's due in soon?"

"Never can rightly tell, with the _Pearl_.  But me lads aboard the _Red Snapper_ seen 'er runnin' north out of the Antilles some weeks ago.  We's figurin' she'll show up for some rest an' entertainment any day now."  The quartermaster nudged his book toward the merchant.  "An' ye know how fast the rum goes when the crew o' the _Pearl_ comes ashore."

The merchant glared at the quartermaster, but took the book and signed.  "If this stuff doesn't sell, ye scurvy silver-tongue, yeh'll never unload another shipment on my dock."

"Mighty fine doin' business with ye, my friend.  An' don't fret.  The _Pearl__'s_ a-comin'."

They went about their business, and Elizabeth stood very still where she was behind some bales of silk, hardly able to breathe.  _The Black __Pearl__ is coming._  She'd been unable to find any trace of Will at the docks or in the town, and no one would reply if she asked questions, but Jack…Jack would know where to look.

She glanced absently at the sun and hissed; she was going to be late.  Fudler docked her food if she did not work to his satisfaction.  She pelted back to the Smashed Pumpkin.

It was Dobson she found sweeping outside, but to her relief he chose not to remark on her tardiness, instead simply nodded at the door.  "'Urry it up."  She scurried past him inside.

Five minutes later, Elizabeth was in the common room, her hair pinned tightly to her head.  When she readied herself for each harrowing night at the inn, she had already discovered that the less flattering she dressed, the better.  She would have worn Will's cloak over her dress if it were not always so hot in the press of drunken bodies.

"Expectin' a busy night tonight," was Fudler's only remark to her before vanishing into the kitchen.  His attentions to her had worn off after her fourth day; smudging soot from the fireplace across her face had done the trick.

It was the busiest and worst night she'd faced yet.  The men were rowdier, the women cattier, and the liquor flowed faster.  She was constantly dodging through the common room at a dead run, delivering full mugs and clearing away empty ones, with Dobson hollering at her to get a move on and come get this next round.

Her most fearful experience came just before midnight when most of the patrons had become good and drunk.  She was carrying four empty tankards back to the bar (having just learnt the trick of threading them onto her fingers) when a burly, red-bearded character jumped up from a booth and collided solidly with her, sending the mugs flying.  "Whoops!  Sorry there, love!"

Elizabeth just ducked her head and bent to pick them up, hoping he would forget about her.  He didn't.  As she was forced to kneel on the floor to reach one of the tankards, Redbeard's foot sent it skittering away.  She bit her lip and stood up, finding herself face-to-beard with Redbeard.  "Not too friendly, are we, love?"

As panic began to tighten her throat, racing outward through her body and squeezing her heart, she could not have spoken then if she'd wanted to.  She tried impulsively to step around him, but he stepped back into her way, grinning maliciously.  By now, they had the attention of several other men, and the foul odors of sweat and alcohol grew overwhelming as they closed in.  "Not said a thing since she got 'ere, mates.  Oughtta loosen that tongue!"

"Whatcher hidin' fer, pretty?"

"Is a pretty little thing under all that duckin' and shyin', ain't there?"

"Come out 'n see us!"

Flinching, Elizabeth backed up, but blundered into another man close behind who had not been there a moment before.  She gasped, and an arm the size of a large tree branch wrapped around her waist.  "Whatsa matta, pretty?  Too good for us?"  He pulled her back against him as two of the others leaned forward.

_ "No!"_  Elizabeth screamed, her arms instinctively jerking up to shield her face from their fetid breath.  Their laughter was all around her, more hands tugged at her, and she was no longer conscious of any feeling except sheer, raw panic.  _Get away get away getawaygetaway…_

She screamed again when another hand snagged her wrist, wrenching her away from the others.  With her eyes squeezed shut, she did not realize for several moments that the groping hands were gone, and the heat had lessened.  She opened them again slowly, cringing and revolted.

Dobson was standing between her and her tormentors, who were complaining piteously at having their "fun" interrupted.  The barkeep growled, "Enough.  Leave 'er alone."  Over their protests, he snapped, "Yer to keep yer 'ands off my barmaid.  There be plenty o' company 'ere without pestering my table 'elp.  Now ye find yer entertainment from them that's workin' for it," he tugged one of the evening girls off her stool and propelled her toward them, "or I'll throw yer carcasses out."  To Elizabeth, he said, "Behind the bar."

Numbly, she obeyed.  The girls were too busy enjoying the renewed attention of the lusty patrons to jeer at her.  Coming back around the bar, Dobson narrowed his eyes, "'Ow'd yer face get so dirty?" Her tears had cut tracks in the soot.  When she gave no answer, he grunted and said, "Ye can pour drinks fer a bit.  Nothin' too complicated, jes' rum an' ale mostly."  As someone else shouted for another round, he beckoned to her.  "'Ere, I'll show ye.  Like so…" he arranged four tankards and deftly filled them with rum.  "Yer ale's from the keg, wine from the barrel, rum in the bottle.  Think ye can do it?"

Blinking, Elizabeth nodded, feeling a rush of emotion she had begun to think was dead:  gratitude.  "Right, then.  Get to it," said Dobson, taking the drinks.

***

Early the next morning, after they'd cleaned up, Dobson put her supper on the bar.  Wiping out washed tankards, he asked in a low voice, "What's a lady like you doin' in a place like this?"

She stared at him, startled.  She'd grown so used to silence that her voice cracked at first when she tried to answer.  She cleared her throat and dropped her eyes back to her food.  "What makes you think I'm a lady?"

"Well, ye weren't born in this pigsty, that much is certain," Dobson replied matter-of-factly.  She tried to keep her eyes down, but they lifted again of their own accord.  The barkeep's face bore no obvious signs of calculation or malice, merely curiosity.  "Ye also wear a lady's shoes and silk stockings.  'Ard to come by round 'ere.  An' a man's cloak—a gentleman's cloak."  He raised an eyebrow.  "'O's the man?  Yer 'usband?  Lover?"

"Fiancé," Elizabeth heard herself murmur.

"Oh?  Don't see a ring."

"He couldn't afford one!" she spat to hide the tears that stung her eyes.

"Aah, so the mystery lady's tale is told.  'E turned to piracy to win yer 'and, then?" Dobson's voice was playful, but he didn't seem amused at her expense.

"I don't know," she ground out before shoving a spoonful of stew into her mouth.  Swallowing hard, she told him, "He boarded a ship supposedly bound for Pearl Point, but it may have truly been going to Tortuga.  I followed him."  She was forced to break off, wiping her eyes.

Dobson nodded.  "What ship was it, love?"

"The _Greymalkin_.  It's a pinnace."  She balled her fists in frustration.  "No one at the docks will tell me anything!"

"Not surprised, lass, yer not from these parts; anyone can see that," said Dobson.  He suddenly reached across the bar and patted her hand.  She did not pull away this time.  "I'll ask round the docks, see if the _Greymalkin_ ever made port in Tortuga."

Handing him back her dishes, Elizabeth smiled for the first time in what felt like years.  "Thank you."  She slid from her stool and headed for her room.  

Watching her, Dobson demanded, "Dontcha got a name, lass?"

Elizabeth paused in the doorway and gave him another dry smile, "You may just call me Nettle."

***

_A week later…_

Elizabeth had half-expected Dobson to forget all about his promise to inquire at the docks about the _Greymalkin_.  But to her surprise, she saw him there on several afternoons during her own wandering investigation.  After nearly two weeks working at the Smashed Pumpkin, her life had fallen into a routine of sorts:  wake in early afternoon, eat, quarter the docks, return to the inn, work from dusk until dawn, eat, go to bed around seven in the morning.

The first time she'd seen Dobson asking after Will at the docks, she had stared in surprise until he noticed her.  Then he had simply winked, and she had slipped away, feeling a new burst of hope that she no longer searched unaided.  Unfortunately, both their efforts went unrewarded by any news of Will or the seedy pinnace.

About a week after she had first confided her story to Dobson, they had their first news—if only it had not been so dreadful.  The inn was rowdy that night, so Elizabeth was pouring drinks behind the bar.  She'd become quite good at it, and had started to feel what might almost be called pride in her skill.  A part of her still cringed with mortification at the squalidness of her situation, but a new feeling was slowly beginning to emerge:  one of stubborn defiance toward anyone in her life, past or present, who would look down on her.  She was surviving.  She would do whatever was necessary, but she would continue to survive.  And she would find Will.

She drummed her fingers impatiently as Dobson stopped at a table to chat with a group of customers.  Him they tipped.  But at the bar, the drinks were stacking up, and if the men started bellowing, she'd have to come out from behind and serve them herself—a task she avoided whenever possible, especially on rowdy nights like these.

"Where the devil's our rum?!" someone bellowed as if to answer her thoughts, and she groaned.  No one heard her in the din.  Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she grabbed four mugs and headed for the nearest table.

Dobson was still talking to the rowdy sailors at the other boot, though she tried to catch his eye.  _Better be interesting,_ she thought crossly, dodging another slap on the rear and trotting back to the bar.

The next table was a party of three men and two evening girls.  "'Bout bloody time," one of them grunted as she set down the mugs.

"What say ye, pretty?" another leered.  "No 'pology fer bein' so late?"

Elizabeth gritted her teeth, and one of the girls laughed.  "No use, boys.  She never talks.  Boss calls 'er Nettle, cause she's so stingy."

The men chortled, mock-toasting Elizabeth.  The third grinned.  "Bet the right man could loose yer tongue, eh, Nettle?"  As she moved to set down his tankard, he suddenly reached around her to solidly grab her backside.

Where she had developed such an instinct, she could not precisely say.  All she knew was that one minute, she was leaning over the table delivering that last tankard, the next…there was an inarticulate shout of outrage, and the crude pirate recoiled with a yell of surprise as the tankard's contents hit him directly in the face with a slapping splash.  Jerking back with equal surprise, Elizabeth suddenly realized that the cry of fury had been her own…and the tankard she had been holding was now empty.

Startled, she jumped back; the room had not gone silent.  On the contrary, loud roars of boisterous laughter and shouts of indignation could be heard.  The man she had soaked was leaping across the table, prepared to murder Elizabeth with his bare hands, when a beefy hand slapped onto her shoulder and jerked her back, sending her spinning away.  Catching her balance, she found herself behind Dobson.  "That _bitch!_" the customer was roaring.  "I'll make 'er pay, I will--"

"Devil you will!" snapped Dobson, grabbing the man's collar with one hand and his arm in the other.  "I've warned you lot about botherin' the barmaid!"  He propelled the still ranting pirate to the door and threw him out, then glared at the others.  "Anyone else care to join 'im?" When the rest of the patrons returned hastily to their merriment, his irate gaze settled on Elizabeth.  She gulped.  "You.  In the kitchen."

Elizabeth had no choice but to follow.  Her initial delight was quickly fleeing in the knowledge that her temper had cost him a paying customer.  She'd probably go without dinner tonight.  Or worse.  When they arrived in the kitchen and Dobson turned around, Elizabeth drew breath to offer a flurry of apologies, but he held up a hand, his expression changing from anger to the usual mild kindness he normally gave her.  She hesitated.  Dobson took a deep breath.  "Them sailors I was talkin' with 'ad some news for ye, lass."

"News?" she repeated.

Dobson nodded.  "'Bout yer lad's ship."

_Will!_  "They've heard of the _Greymalkin_?" Elizabeth gasped.

Dobson's solemn face should have warned her.  "Aye.  She was due into Tortuga, it's for sure.  But that was near three weeks ago…ain't been no sign of 'er.  An' this lot that arrived saw bits of a wreck on a shoal off Jamaica."  His expression was sad as Elizabeth felt an icy hand squeeze her heart.  "Was the _Greymalkin_, love.  Or what was left of 'er.  Between Jamaica and 'Ispaniola.  She went down."

_Wiiiilllllll__!!!_

***

_Aboard the _Lady Laurel, _a few days later…_

Will climbed down from where he'd been setting the topsails.  "Right good at this, ain't ye, lad?" said Sullivan.  "Sure ye ain't ne'er been a sailor?"

Unable to help the faint smile that came to his face, Will replied, "I've sailed a few times before."

Krighton glanced up from swabbing the deck, sneering.  "An' what, sailin' wasn' good enough for ye?  I reckon not, what with yer earnins.  Fancy types like 'im's always lookin' down their noses at the likes of us."

"Bug off," said Will casually.  He knew that to hold his own among this rough crew, he'd better not give any impression of weakness.  "I'm no such thing.  Just a town blacksmith looking for a fresh start."

O'Malley gave a bark of laughter.  "Looks ter me like ye were doin' jes' fine, if a 'town blacksmith' be earnin' that much."  Will rolled his eyes and went to help coil long lines.  His life savings were an annoyingly frequent topic of conversation among the _Lady Laurel's_ crew.  Then again, he shouldn't be surprised; he suspected no matter what his assets, being the newcomer would make him the focus of the other men's conversation.

"My earnings are none of your affair."

Krighton snorted and nudged one of the other men.  "Too good for us."  Will ignored him, and ducked swiftly out of the way of the bucketful of dirty water—so that it missed him and hit the first mate.

"Bloody barking hell, Krighton!  What've I told you about horseplay on deck!  Another stunt like that and yeh'll be serving a spell in the rigging!"

"Sorry, sor!"

Will finished his duties just in time to be relieved by one of the other men.  After collecting his food from the galley, he went back on deck to his usual spot on the bow, looking out at the setting sun as the sea wind ruffled his hair.  He often stayed there until it was time to retire and sleep, for he cared little for the noise and stink of the crew quarters below.  Still, beggars couldn't be choosers.

"I'm afraid you'll have to forgive my men, Mr. Turner."

Will jumped.  Captain Willem was uncanny in the way he could come up from behind without making a sound.  The tall, dark man was leaning against the forward mast, watching Will idly before gazing out at the horizon with a faraway look in his eyes.  "They seem to think me an intruder here," he said candidly.  For some reason, Captain Willem also had a way of pushing Will into bluntness.  It was not what he expected of…any sort of hardened sailor.

The captain glanced back at him briefly, then turned his eyes back to the sea.  "You don't exactly make an effort to mix with them."

"I suppose not.  I'm unused to the close quarters of a ship."

"So I see."

Silence fell.  Will turned his own eyes to where the ocean met the sky.  It was a comforting view, somehow, with the sun burning deep orange above a black ocean, sending streaks of peach, pink, and gold through the purple sky.  Without looking back, he remarked, "I was taking inventory in the hold these past few days.  I was surprised by the…variety of supplies you carry."

"I tend to think of variety as the spice of life."

"Oh."  Will grimaced to himself; he'd only been aboard a week and already he'd learned Captain Willem's reputation for cryptic remarks.  The man was nearly impossible to understand.  He was not like any man, sailor or landlubber, that Will had ever met.  "Variety or no, supplies are running low."

"So you told us.  We'll have to make a run soon."

"A supply run?"

There was a long pause.  "Yes.  A…supply run."

Will swallowed.  Since promising to return the favor of his own life by working aboard this seemingly innocuous flute, he had come to notice certain oddities about the vessel:  an unusual variety of its supplies, food and other items, that the crew was rather well-paid (despite their gripings), and that they were better armed than any merchant ship ought to be.  Captain Willem's odd tone was final confirmation of what Will had half-shamefully, half-nervously suspected all along.

"You're pirates, aren't you?"

Another long silence.  "And what if we were?"

"I don't know.  I had wondered."

"Good lad.  Powers of observation will serve you and us well.  Assuming you want to stay on, of course."

Will turned slowly to face the captain.  "Are you saying I have a choice?"

Captain Willem shrugged.  "'Course.  If you want out, we'll put in at port somewhere and you can go ashore.  Up to you."

Staring in surprise, Will asked, "Aren't you concerned I might reveal you?  Surely I've seen more than you'd wish."

The captain laughed.  "Seen what, lad?  A bit of a variety in the goods we carry, but as I said, this captain's taste runs to variety.  A few extra guns?  Dangerous waters, these, boy, no sense being unprepared.  And the crew?  Not Britain's finest, by any means, but good, hardy sailors.  And not a pirate brand among them."  He smiled at Will.  "I made sure of that.  Although one of the poor lads has a rather nasty burn on his arm.  Explosion in a merchant's warehouse, I imagine."  He leaned back against the mast again and grinned more broadly.

Will couldn't help smiling back.  "You do take great pains to cover your tracks."

"It's folly not to, lad, these days.  The pirate's heyday is waning.  The fine upstanding British Navy and the reformed governors of Jamaica have seen to that.  If we're to survive, it's through stealth and good sense, not with guns and fear.  We choose our targets with care, strike swift and fast, and we're away before any have time to raise the alarm or mark us.  And thus we've survived for two years."

"Why?" Will couldn't restrain himself from asking.  "Why piracy?  Why not simply sail under a merchant flag, or some other…trade?"

Captain Willem laughed harder.  "You were about to say, 'respectable trade,' weren't you, son?"  Will didn't answer, but he blushed.  "I don't expect a boy such as yourself to understand, lad.  It's not just for plunder and riches.  Fact is there aren't many real riches to be had for pirates anymore that don't carry the price of our heads along with them.  No, my straight and narrow lad, it's more than simple greed and black-heartedness."

"What, then?  Adventure?"

There was a snort in response.  "I did warn you that you wouldn't understand.  The sea is a demanding mistress, my boy.  For men lucky enough—or unlucky enough—to fall completely under her spell, even a berth aboard a merchant's vessel isn't enough.  Steady, scheduled, monotonous runs from Port Royal to Santiago or Port Au Prince?  Nooo, son."  Atticus walked up beside Will and waved his arm in a grand, sweeping gesture at the inky sea.  "She doesn't intend us to use her like that, a mere…road, from here to there.  She's meant to be a great open field, a vast world of visions and perils unknown, as wide as the sky itself.  And those who truly love her are those who can't bear the thought of living without sailing down every last league of her."  He patted the hull of the _Lady Laurel_ affectionately, as though touching a beloved wife or an old friend.  "That's what a pirate sees his ship as, lad:  freedom.  And the sea's our goddess.  She gives us wings."

Will couldn't help smiling.  "That reminds me of someone I know."

Atticus chuckled, then gave Will a clap on the shoulder.  "As I said, son, I don't expect you to understand.  The pirate's life never makes any sense to someone who's perfectly content with a simple living in the same shop or route every day of his life."

"I don't recall saying I preferred that."

"Ahhh, so you came out searching a bit of adventure yourself, then?"

Will was startled by the tone of the question; the man sounded positively eager to hear of Will's life before the _Greymalkin_ had wrecked.  He shrugged; the crew all said the captain was eccentric and overly interested in their well-being.  "Not exactly.  I simply wanted…a new life."  Seeing the captain's raised eyebrows, he sighed and admitted, "A forgetful one."

"So our newcomer reveals his secret at last.  And did this forgetfulness have anything to do with a beautiful woman by the name of Elizabeth?"

Will's head snapped toward the captain.  "How did you--"

"You were fevered for three days, lad.  There's a good deal of guessing on who this lady might be."

The conversation had suddenly gone from refreshingly honest to unpleasant, and Will felt his spine tighten.  "It's a rather long story, and I have an early watch.  With your permission, sir, I'll retire."

Atticus eyed him, but did not press the issue.  He did ask, "So are we to enjoy the advantage of your youthful strength and wit on the _Lady Laurel_, or shall I instruct the crew that we're making a dropoff before the next…supply run."

Will hesitated, feeling his stomach clench.  _Could_ he join forces with a pirate ship, purely for…profit, whatever the adventure that came with it?  He glanced at the crew, going about their duties on deck, coiling rope, making sail, and cleaning the guns.  Could he join them in firing those guns at some hapless ship manned by inoffensive merchants who had the bad luck of straying into the _Laurel__'s_ path?  Slowly, he shook his head to himself, and turned back to Captain Willem.  "I owe you my life, Captain.  But I think perhaps…I shall take you up on your offer of disembarking."  With a touch of regret, he reached into the money pouch he kept inside his shirt at all times.  "For your trouble," he held out a sizeable handful of coins.  It seemed only right.

Atticus stared at him for a moment.  Was that disappointment on his face?  What a strange man he was.  Then he shook his head.  "No need, son.  You've done a fair share of work and earned your keep aboard.  Save your money.  We'll fly our merchant flag and drop you in Guantanamo when next we hit Cuba.  Good harbor there.  Speak any Spanish?"

Will shrugged.  "A little.  I'll manage.  Thank you."

"My pleasure, son."

***

_Tortuga__, a few days later…_

Three weeks and one day had passed since Elizabeth had landed in Tortuga, meaning three weeks and two days since she had read Will's letter and fled Port Royal in pursuit of him.  Only twenty-one days that she'd been pouring drinks, waiting tables, scrubbing floors, and evading roving hands in a seedy tavern in the slum of the Caribbean, searching for news of him.

But by God, it felt so very much longer.

Elizabeth had stopped actually counting the days; she only knew tonight was the twenty-first because she'd heard Dobson remarking that it had been three weeks.  She had also stopped talking again, except to relay orders for drinks to Dobson.  She wandered through each long night in a daze, barely noticing the slaps and pinches and jeers anymore, she was so lost in her own thoughts.

The _Greymalkin_ had sunk on a shoal far from land.  All aboard her were dead.

_Will!  WILL!_

What was she to do now?  Where could she go?  What was left for her in life without him?  At times the horror and anguish grew so great it was all she could do not to scream in despair and tear from the inn to fling herself into the harbor.  Other times it struck her with such dreadful fierceness, a conviction that this news was completely wrong—there was _no way_ her beloved could have been lost at sea.  It went against the very laws of the universe.  Will _could__ not_ be dead.  It was a mistake!  All a mistake!  Those sailors had been wrong.  It had not been the _Greymalkin_.  Or if it had, Will had not been on board.  Or he had escaped.  He could not be dead.

She lived thus, swinging violently back and forth between soul-shattering despair and mind-numbing denial, and during the latter periods, thought of what she might do next.  She still searched and listened for news of the _Black Pearl_, but had not mentioned this to Dobson.  If he found her search for her fiancé convincing enough not to ask more questions, the _Black Pearl_ and Jack Sparrow were far too well-known here.  He would realize she was no ordinary person who would seek out that ship's captain, and if Jack had told any tales of his escapade with the governor of Jamaica's daughter, the connection might be made.  She was not precisely sure why, but she did not want that to happen.

On the night of her third week, she was scrubbing vainly at the perpetually-dirty tables before opening when the usual gaggle of prostitutes came in to claim the best chairs and stools before the men arrived.  "Anything to wet yer whistles, ladies?" called Dobson from the bar.  (All the girls were entitled to one free drink as long as they brought in business.)

"Wine!"

"Rum!"

"Sherry!"

"Sorry, Giselle, we're out of sherry!"

"Bloody 'ell, Dobby, why the devil can't ye keep yer drinks stocked?!"

Laughing, Dobson plunked a rather out-of-place goblet of some sour wine in front of the irritated woman and sat on the edge of her table before replying, "Awww, lassie, ye know we ain't got that much clientele with tastes as…sophisticated as yours!  Drink yer wine, and bring us in a nice lot of lonely boys with deep pockets, and I'll see if I can't get me a few bottles of sherry on the next boat."

Less disgruntled, Giselle grabbed the goblet and downed the wine in two gulps.  Belching and wiping her mouth, she turned her usual contemptuous gaze toward Elizabeth.  "All done 'ere, Missy."

Without answering, Elizabeth went to take the goblets and tankards, getting the usual tugs on her skirts and kicks at her shins.  "Poor lil' Nettle, never says a word,"

"It's cause she's got a voice too nasty to be 'eard!" squealed another girl, delighted by her own cleverness.

"Aye, she minces about, always wearin' a frown…"

"Lookin' so sad it's a wonder she don' drown!" screeched Giselle, and the girls dissolved into laughter at their rhyming.  The absurdity of the whole scene knocked Elizabeth from her morose thoughts, and she snorted and shook her head.  "Oy!  Did we just get her to smile?"

All the girls leaned forward in wonder.  Another, a rather heavyset artificial blonde named Sadie with an absurdly tight yellow silk gown (it made her look like a canary with the mange) clapped her hands on her painted cheeks.  "She _did!_  World's comin' to an end!"

This time Elizabeth could not help it; she snickered.  Gasps rang out, and she snickered harder.  Hurrying back to take the last of the glasses, the strange humor manifested itself in a still more shocking way—when Giselle attempted her usual kick at Elizabeth's shin, Elizabeth responded by aiming her own foot at Giselle and giving her a solid kick in return.

"Yaaii!  Watch out, girlies, Kitten's got 'erself some claws now!" yelled Sadie, whose view was obscured by Elizabeth's skirts.

Giselle, on the other hand, was gaping at Elizabeth's feet.  "Where in 'ell did ye get those?!"

Elizabeth stifled a groan.  How stupid of her.  She'd let them see her shoes.  Now all the other girls who'd seen were leaning forward, their eyes fixed on the hem of her dress.  "Them's real lady's shoes!  Fancy things!  Where'd ye steal them from?!" demanded Suzanne, a buxom redhead in a green dress.

"I didn't steal them!" Elizabeth exclaimed before she thought the better of it.

The girls were too busy trying to get a look at her feet.  Wide-eyed with excitement, a skinny brunette in a red dress exclaimed, "I'll give ye a shillin' for 'em!"

Before Elizabeth could recover from her own shock, Suzanne snapped, "Yer cheap, Betina!  I'll give 'er two shillins for shoes such as those!  An' I'll actually be able to fit into 'em!"

"Three shillins!" retorted Betina, sticking her tongue out at Suzanne.

"Ye ain't got three shillins, ye little liar," snapped another girl.  She swirled her blue skirts and turned to Elizabeth.  "I do, an' I'll pay ye three for 'em."

"Show me you got three shillins, Otillie," challenged Betina, and Otillie stuck her hand down her bosom and produced three coins.  Elizabeth just stared at them.

"Now look what ye done, gone and set her mute again," sighed Giselle, rolling her eyes.  "Too bad 'er feet's so damned small, or I'd pay 'er four shillins for 'em.  These ruddy clogs spoil the 'fect of a nice gown."

"What about it, Nettle," demanded Otillie.  "Three shillins, an' I'll throw in me own shoes if ye be needin' some.  We're a size.  Whadda ye say?"

Dobson and Fudler were watching the haggling with interest.  Elizabeth pondered the whole situation, then thought of how Otillie had rummaged in the pouch in her dress.  She allowed herself a sly smile, then turned her back to the men and hiked up her skirt.  "Make it five shillings and you can have the silk stockings as well."

Now every girl in the room gasped, crowding around to gape, and some actually attempted to reach out and touch Elizabeth's silken ankle as if to prove the stockings were real.  Bids for the stockings alone were shouted out, but none could match Otillie's offer of five.  She fished out two more shillings and dropped them into Elizabeth's waiting hand, then doffed her own shoes, two rather worn and dirty but sturdy clogs, and plain cotton stockings.  Elizabeth pocketed the money, then balanced on one foot to remove her shoes and stockings, and placed them in the all-too-eager prostitute's hands.  "You've gone an' beggared yerself for a pair of ruddy shoes and stockings," said Betina enviously.

Otillie, already wriggling into them, merely laughed.  "An' I'll bring in twice the business that you do, Bet!  Ain't a man in Tortuga who could resist a silken leg.  Thankee kindly, Nettle!"

"Not at all," said Elizabeth, and returned to her room to secret the shillings away under a loose brick.  She put on the clogs—they truly were so much more comfortable than her other shoes—but set the stockings aside.  She couldn't bear the thought of putting those on without washing them first.  Heaven only knew how long Otillie had been wearing them.

She returned to the common room as the first customers began bumbling in, and the inn returned to its usual manner of raucous shouts and laughter, flowing liquor, and sweaty, pressing bodies.  But Elizabeth noticed fewer catty remarks of the girls, and found that she no longer cringed away from them as shameful, fallen creatures.  Even when she brought mugs of rum to the table where Otillie currently had a bidding contest underway for the man who'd be lucky enough to touch her legs in the silk stockings, she felt no contempt.  After all, Otillie was only trying to replace the five shillings she'd spent.

Elizabeth leaned against the bar, resting her chin on her hand, and pondered this.  Why did she feel this way about the girls now?  Or rather, why had she felt so contaminated by their mere presence before?  After all…what other choice did they have?  Not every woman alone in Tortuga—especially those brought here by ill fortune or birth even—could hope to survive as Elizabeth had.  Rather, Elizabeth had come to realize some time ago, she was quite the glaring exception, judging by the way the men and women of Tortuga responded to her.  Men waited tables in the other bars, or if women did, it was to earn extra coin along with their work as ladies of the evening.

Come to think of it, Elizabeth had wandered the streets and docks and inns of Tortuga for three weeks now, and had yet to see a single woman who looked as if she had managed to survive alone with any semblance of dignity.  And yet…the girls here carried on, surviving conditions worse than Elizabeth could imagine even now, in her current impoverished state.  And standing here, watching them luring men to their sides for drinks, company, and food—and ultimately survival—she was overwhelmed by a rush of admiration.  

She could not imagine being so strong.

***

_Aboard the _Lady Laurel_, three days later…___

"We're three days out of Guantanamo, lad," said Captain Willem by way of greeting as he met Will coming on deck.  

"Don' suppose ye'd be lettin' us go ashore fer some entertainment while we're there, eh, Cap'n?" asked Krighton.

The captain shrugged.  "Perhaps."

O'Malley made a crude noise.  "Been a long time away from them Spanish lasses.  Watch yer head, boy!  They'll take ye fer a fool in no time, them señoritas of Cuba!"

Will chuckled.  "I'll be on my guard then."

"Aye, an' the best wine, them Spaniards make!  Once off Santiago, we took a merchant that 'ad a hold full of it.  Barrels of aged stuff!  Aye, we drank fine fer three months, that time!" declared Krighton, slapping O'Malley on the back in reminiscence.

Will thought to himself that perhaps since Captain Willem refused to accept any payment for Will's rescue, he would buy a few bottles of Spanish wine and have them sent to the ship before she sailed.  That might be a friendly farewell, and ease the men's grumblings about pointless ventures.

"So where're ye off to, lad?" demanded O'Malley.  "Off to find that Elizabeth of yourn?"

Their banter had ceased to be amusing.  "No."

Unfortunately, Will's muttered reply only roused their interest.  "Aaaayyy, an' why not, me lad?" demanded Krighton, leaning forward eagerly.  "Ye raved about 'er so much, we reckoned she must've been the best lookin' woman this side o' the Atlantic!"

Feeling something hot begin to burn his insides, Will glared at the older man.  "She was.  And I'm not the only one who thought so."

"Ay--" they would have questioned him further, but Will walked away.

He was cleaning the forward guns when Captain Willem came up beside him.  He sighed.  "Yes, sir?"

"You should never let any hint out that your life has a story, son.  Even pirates love a good tale."

"I have no tale."

"Bilge."

Will paused and shut his eyes.  "I have no tale I wish to tell."

"I can't deny being curious as to the fate of the ship you were on," said Atticus, as if he hadn't heard Will's protests.

"She sank."

"And healthy men die.  That's not much to go on.  Is that why you left home?  Your lady chose another man?"

Will's fists clenched the barrel of the small deck gun, the cool iron strangely comforting.  "Yes.  She was a…well-bred man's daughter."

"And she never saw you, I suppose.  It's only heartache to fall in love with uppercrust girls, lad--"

Will shook his head.  "She loved me once.  We were going to marry.  Her father was not…well, he was not pleased, but I had thought he approved."

"Strange.  Most gentlemen would sooner hang than see their daughter marry a tradesman."

"I saved her life.  She saved mine.  The circumstances were…unusual."

"So what happened?"

"Another man.  A nobleman.  Far more fit for the daughter of a…dignitary.  When he came her father was only too happy to go back on his word that Elizabeth and I could marry.  Society thought no less of him because of what I was."  Why he was telling the captain this, Will didn't know.  It hurt to tell, grinding out between his teeth, but he could not find the strength to refuse the quiet questions.  There was a strange concern in the old pirate's voice.  Perhaps the idea that someone actually cared to hear—and not just for amusement—allowed the words out.

"The world can be a bitter place for those not born to privilege, son.  I loved a woman once myself, but the sea and poverty forced me away from her."  

Will stared at him, "Why would you tell me that?"

"You've told me your tale, why shouldn't I tell you mine?"

"You are a strange sort of captain, sir."

Atticus laughed.  "Captains are as different as men can be, lad.  I tend to think a captain does best who keeps his men happy as well as working.  Especially a pirate.  We're brethren, lad, as we were in the days of Morgan and Bartholomew and Drake.  We've all got our stories, and we all answer the call of the sea."

"But I'm leaving because I'm not a pirate," Will protested.

He got a broader smile in response.  "But you were here for a time, son.  And I see it in your eyes; you hear the sea's call.  She knows you.  Maybe you can fight it, but I see it.  The pirate's in your blood."

Will eyed him for a moment and slowly smiled back.  "You're not the first person who's told me that."

Then they both laughed, and Will felt a pang of regret that he would be leaving this ship.  On the other hand, perhaps it was better that he'd remember Atticus Willem and his men this way, as mere sailors, rather than pillaging pirates.

It was certainly odd that any sailor, pirate or other, should be as curious as Captain Willem.  "So what became of your Elizabeth?  Did she marry the man?"

Will shrugged.  "I have no idea.  I left the morning after I saw them together."  His fists clenched in angry memory.  "It's possible they're married by now.  I had proposed to her six months ago and couldn't even afford a ring.  This man…he had his titles, his wealth, his ships, and his white sword--"

A hand seized his wrist in a bruising grip, causing him to drop the cleaning rag with a start.  "His _what?!_"

Will stared at the captain.  The older man's face was white under his tan, his eyes wild with many emotions, including outrage, fury, and even perhaps a flicker of fear.  Shaken, he stammered, "He…the man…Sir Reginald Hamilton…he owns a sword.  It's white."

"Describe it!" the captain barked, and Will obeyed as automatically as if he'd been ordered to swab the deck or mend the sails.

"It…it has a folded steel blade, with a filigreed silver handle set with white mother-of-pearl, and the entire scabbard is inlaid with mother-of-pearl.  It's white.  It's been in his family for generations, he said."

"Did he indeed?"  Stepping back and visibly pulling himself under control, Captain Willem smiled.  This smile was frightening, as though he were about to gently impart a death sentence.  "Oh, he lied, my boy, he lied."

"What do you mean?" Will asked sharply, forgetting himself.

"Where's the sword now?  Where's this Hamilton character?"

"As far as I know he's still in Port Royal courting Elizabeth.  She's the daughter of the governor of Jamaica," Will told him, still confused and alarmed.

"Port Royal…my God.  The fool, the bloody fool.  Even a pirate knows better."

"Better than _what?!_" Will demanded.  "What is the white sword, then?  Where did he get it?"

"A place no living man has any business setting foot, lad, if he's a mind to live," said Captain Willem.  He stepped back and turned slowly toward the wheel.  "Jenkins!  Alter course!  Turn us southwest, full sail!"

"Aye-aye, sir!"

"What are you doing?!" Will demanded, running after the captain as he headed up the deck.  "Where are we--"

"All hands on deck!" bellowed the captain, and the crew swiftly complied.  Ignoring Will, he announced, "Men, we've made a change of plans.  We have a raid to conduct!  A swift and secret raid!  And a fine prize!"

The men leaned forward eagerly, and now Will was reminded of the Black Pearl's crew.  "What's our target, Cap'n?"

"Port Royal!"  The men gaped.  "No, not an all-out assault, but we'll take care of our supplies, among other things.  And there are many prizes to be had in Port Royal."

"Ambitious," someone muttered.  

"Aye, ain't never been so ambitious before."

"What are you doing?" Will shot out, ignoring the startled looks of the others.  "Port Royal hosts one of the largest forts in the Caribbean, with some of the fastest ships in the British Navy docked there!  You'd never escape!"

Captain Willem whirled back toward him, so swiftly that Will took a step back.  "Answer me truthfully, Turner.  Do you hate this Elizabeth now that she's betrayed you?  Do you wish her in hell?"

"No!" Will gasped.  He would love Elizabeth with his last breath.

"Then am I correct in assuming that when push came to shove, you'd want her to live to see the next New Year?"

Will froze.  "What in God's name do you mean?"

"We're going to Port Royal, Turner.  And if you want the girl to survive, you'd best aid us."  Captain Willem stepped away from the men and lowered his voice.  "The men think we're conducting a raid, and it's partly true.  We're going for the white sword."

***

_Tortuga__, four days later…_

Elizabeth trudged back into the Smashed Pumpkin to Dobson's cheerful welcome, greeting the evening girls with an absent wave, and went automatically to wiping the tables.  "Yer late, Nettle!" said Otillie.

"I don't know what's going on out there, but there's a mad crowd out by the docks.  I didn't even try to go see what it was about," Elizabeth told Dobson.

"Must be a ship's made port.  If she's big enough the rum runners an' street girls'll be down at the docks waitin' to welcome 'er crew home."

"Oh."  Last night had been long, and if yet another ship had made port, tonight would be even worse.  It was a testament to how tired she was that it didn't occur to her to ask what ship it was.

As she feared, the tavern was crowded, and the night dragged on.  One drunk managed to spill an entire tankard of ale onto her left shoulder and down the side of her dress at half past midnight, and she slogged on, furious, wet, and stinking of alcohol, wishing for the chance to either be sick or get drunk herself.  God, what a wretch she was!  

She was weaving her way back through the mob with no less than eight empty tankards strung onto her fingers when yet another boisterous, already-nearly-drunk mob came crowding their way in.  It was all she could do not to groan.

"A table, my good men, a table for our honored guest!  Stand aside there!" she heard Fudler bellowing.  "Come in, come in, welcome!"

"Nettle!" bellowed Dobson.  "Eight rums, and be quick about it.  Got us a right 'ero in 'ere tonight!"

"Coming," she sighed, though he didn't hear her of course.  There was an incredible press of people around the table of newcomers, and she shouted at their backs to let her through.  Fudler shoved them aside, took the mugs from her, and demanded another round at once, so she turned and jogged back toward the bar, and then…

"'Allo, 'allo, 'allo!  What have we here, Fudler!  Gotcherself another lady?"

Elizabeth stopped dead in her tracks, her back still to the table.  

_That voice!_

"What?  Nah, sorry Cap'n.  Just me new barmaid, 'ad 'er about a month.  Funny little thing, won't tell nobody 'er name.  An' Dobson's gone soft on me, all protective.  Won't let the men bother 'er, cause she don't like Scarlett an' Giselle's line of work--"

"Hah!  Her loss!"

"Aye, an' that's why we call 'er Nettle.  Cause she's so prickly, right, see?  OY!  NETTLE!  I don' feed ye to be standin' in the common room!  Put a boot in it!"

There was a loud roar of laughter from the table, and the clink of tankards.  Elizabeth turned slowly around, her breath coming in ragged gasps, so that she couldn't force her voice to do more than whisper…

_ "Jack?"_

_PFFTOO!_  No less than three of the inn's distinguished guests emptied their mouths of rum.  Abruptly.  And loudly.  The whole room went silent.  Elizabeth stared as every pair of eyes in the room focused on her, some in confusion, some in irritation, some in outrage—but three in complete shock.  Her own eyes flicked to the jowly man on the right, the one with the parrot on his shoulder ("Shiver me timbers!" it said) on the left, but focused in desperation, meeting the eyes in the middle, lined in that peculiar kohl, black as night, and at the moment, quite flabbergasted.

As always, Captain Jack Sparrow rallied his forces admirably.  While Mr. Cotton and Mr. Gibbs were still flat-out gaping, he broke into a broad grin and sprang to his feet—right on top of the table.  "Weelll, Mr. Fudler, I have to say, that if _this_ is an example of the new barmaids in Tortuga, I ought to get one for the _Black Pearl_!"  Now it was Elizabeth's turn to gape, as he gave her that same awful leer that she'd received time and time again from every filthy ruffian with roving hands and dreadful intentions who'd come into this horrid place.  Her blood began to boil as Jack jumped down and went on.  "Prettiest little barmaid I ever did see, yes sir!  I may have to steal her from you!"

She was so angry she started to shake.  By now Gibbs was slowly rising to his feet, his mouth still wide open, and Jack broke off, in surprise that was only half-feigned, at the utter fury in her eyes.  She advanced on him in a way that made every man in the place step aside.  Her voice was a hiss.  "Don't…you…laugh at me.  Don't…you…_dare _laugh at me, Jack Sparrow."  

There was a chorus of gasps from around the room.  "She didn' even call 'im Cap'n!" somebody whispered in shock.  "How's she know 'im?!"

She didn't even register that it was Dobson who murmured as she passed, "I _knew_ there was somethin' 'bout this one.  _Knew_ it!"

Brushing past Fudler, who's jaw was brushing the floor, Elizabeth stood nose to nose with Jack, seething like she had never seethed before at his inscrutable expression, and abruptly, all the fear, uncertainty, loneliness, and bitterness of the past month exploded outward, and she launched herself at him, both hands latching onto his throat and shaking him with all her might.  _"Damn you, Jack!  Damn you and your jokes!"_

Shouts erupted and the other men in the room tried to pull her off.  Of course, she didn't actually choke him, but she hoped to at least startle him.  To her further outrage, he got her hands away all too easily, and held her back at arms length by the wrists, his face _still_ that infuriating half-puzzled, half-imperturbable expression, while she made a concerted effort to scratch those damn kohl-lined eyes right out.  Gibbs and Cotton were now running interference to keep the other men from dragging Elizabeth away, "Now, now, just one of, er, just one o' Jack's ol' lady friends, hehe.  _Jack, what do we do?!  She's mad!"_  Gibbs hissed.

"I seen 'im get slapped all the time, but by 'eaven, I ain't _never_ seen a girl do _that!_" exclaimed someone.

Jack took control.  "Come on, come on, back to the _Pearl_.  Sorry, Fudler, old friend, but I'm going to have to commandeer your barmaid.  She's so bloody pretty and talented I just have to have her for me own ship.  Only the best for the _Pearl_, you know.  Let's go…Nettle!"

"You bloody bastard!" Elizabeth screamed as he dragged her out.

"Language, love, language!" Amid her shrieks of fury and her curses, Jack manhandled Elizabeth out the door and down the street, until they were well away from the Smashed Pumpkin and any curious onlookers.  They wound up in an alley between the town and the docks, where Jack finally released her, and she immediately rounded on him and slapped him full in the face.  "Oy!  Now I _know_ I didn't deserve that, lass!"  Jack exclaimed, affecting a shocked and wounded pose.  "Unless I'm very much mistaken, I just rescued you!"

Shaking with anger and barely-suppressed hysteria, Elizabeth said, "You…have…_no idea_ what I have been through!  So don't you laugh at me!"

"Miss Elizabeth, what on earth are you doing here?!" exclaimed Gibbs.

She ignored him, grabbed Jack's shoulders, and began shaking him, "Why did it have to take you _so bloody long?!_" Jack was batting at her hands—teasing her, she was quite sure, even though he looked surprised rather than playful.  "I've been trapped in this godforsaken place for a whole bloody month waiting for you to turn up in your bloody ship!  I need you, damn it!  It's Will, I need you, and no one in this thrice-damned place would tell me--"

"Ahoy there, lass!" Jack exclaimed, finally getting her to stop out of brute force by grabbing her shoulders in return.  "Slow down!  I'm sure you've got a fascinating tale to tell that'd spellbind the most skeptical pirate, but we ain't got time.  Now tell me what you're doing here, and what's happened to that lovesick lad o' yours that he'd let you wander into this nasty place all by yourself."

A lump rose in Elizabeth's throat.  "I don't know where he is.  He boarded…a ship…for Tortuga…only he didn't…Dobson said it sank…I can't find-and-followed--"  Her words grew more garbled until she simply burst into tears and collapsed in Jack's arms.  "I have to find him," she sobbed into his smelly garments.  "I can't—I don't know where—have to find him."

If Jack was startled by her hysterics, he rallied himself again, and began patting her back.  "All right, lass, all right.  There, there.  We'll find the lad.  I don't know what, but I reckon he's gone and done something foolish again.  Boy always was a fool for love."

"Don't say that!"

"Why'd he run away to Tortuga, then?  Trying to win you a fortune?"

She shook her head into his shoulders, still sobbing.  "He thought-I-didn't-love-him--"

"_What?_  Bloody hell, the boy really is a fool.  Come on, love.  Hush now.  Everything'll turn out just fine.  Your Captain Jack's here to save the day; we'll hunt your wayward lad down and give him a good hiding, then see to it he marries you or walks the plank.  How's that?"  He pulled her back to arm's length and gave her a rakish grin.

Staring at that absurd, sly smile, hearing him promising to work near-miracles, Elizabeth couldn't help it.  Dashing a fist across her puffy face, the tears still falling, she began to laugh.

***

_Port Royal__, that same night…_

"I've sent our fastest ship after the _Cardinal_," said Governor Swann, staring out the parlor window at the darkening harbor.  "Commodore Norrington will know how to find her."

Gillette shook his head.  "Sir, we've searched every square inch of the town, scoured the beaches and docks.  We've netted more than a dozen minor piracy operations, and the prison is full to capacity.  Miss Swann is no longer in Port Royal."

"By God, she _has_ to be!" cried Swann, rounding on him.  "Where else could she have gone?"

"As her father, if you'd brought her up properly, you would know where she had gone," said a voice from the doorway.  "Of course, if you were a competent father _or_ governor, you would know a great deal more about the goings-on in Port Royal, and your daughter would not be missing in the first place."

"Sir Reginald?"  Gillette shifted uncomfortably.

Hamilton ignored Gillette, staring coldly at Swann.  "I sent a letter with that recently-departed ship, which will be transferred to the _Cardinal_ for dispatch to the crown, detailing the ineptitude I've witnessed since arriving in Port Royal.  I hope they will respond with due speed to this situation before you manage to completely compromise British interests in the Caribbean."

Gillette cleared his throat and quietly departed the room.  Swann gazed at Hamilton until the parlor door closed, then said, "You must do what you must do, Sir Reginald."  It afforded him some satisfaction to see the puzzled look on the man's face, and the way Hamilton hesitated to respond.  He went on, "Of course, if any of my actions have particularly offended you, you are certainly free to take up lodgings in another location in Port Royal until your return to England.  I am certain Admiral Kensington could provide you with accommodation."

Hamilton drew himself up stiffly.  "Thank you, Governor.  That will not be necessary."  

Swann inclined his head to Hamilton—and turned back to the window.  It afforded him a little more satisfaction to hear the clicking thump of the door being pulled shut.  He sighed, watching reflected moonlight over the harbor fading as clouds covered the sky.  He found that he simply could not bring himself to be concerned with Hamilton's vengeful attacks, even though he didn't doubt it posed a real threat to his position as governor of Jamaica.  Or perhaps it simply didn't matter anymore.  Nothing seemed to matter.

The harbor was black except for a few flickering dock torches.  Port Royal seemed unnaturally quiet and cold.  

_Oh __Elizabeth__…_

The lights at the harbor grew; a ship must have landed late, he supposed idly.  A flickering ball spread into a cluster of little flames, which separated and moved swiftly up the docks until they were lost in the town, appearing every now and then between the buildings.  Swann leaned against the cool glass and let his mind wander, until he noticed another cluster of lights coming up the road into the hills toward the house.  Swann frowned; who could be on their way here in such a hurry—there was a muffled _bang!_ from down below, and orange light flared somewhere in the town.  Swann recoiled, then threw open the window.  Shouts reached his ears from the city as more lights appeared, and the glow spread.  

Closer noises drew his attention back to the lights coming up the road, now very near to the house.  Wild yells and rough growls of the most unsavory kind—voices of men up to no good.  From the window, Swann suddenly realized the torches were close enough to see the bearers' faces—but he could not.  The men were masked.  And they were already coming through the gate.

_Pirates!_  Swann dashed out of the parlor, emerging with his typical luck into the foyer just as the front door lock was blown off by the shot of a pistol, and the door burst open to admit half a dozen ruffians who instantly brought their guns to bear at the hapless governor.  "No!" he blurted, raising his hands and certain his death was imminent.  _What will happen to __Elizabeth__—_

"Not one move, Governor!" said the lead pirate, in a strong, sharp voice that reminded Swann of someone he couldn't place.  

"Fancy place, this," muttered another, staring appreciatively around the house.  "Good pickins."

"You have your orders.  The house is not to be touched," retorted the leader, waving his free hand sharply at the others.  

"Aye, mate, cap'n says we're 'ere fer somethin' special!" growled a third pirate.  "What now, lad?" he asked the leader.

"Keep this gentleman guarded, the same for the servants.  No heroics while I get what we came for," ordered the tall pirate, and darted up the stairs.

"Ye 'eard our leftenan'," sneered one of the remaining pirates, keeping his pistol steadily pointed at Swann's face while the others surrounded the governor.  "Keep still an' ye'll come outta this wif yer life."  Swann said nothing, but kept his hands in their view and bit his lip.  Why, oh, why had Norrington had to choose now to be on his honeymoon?

There was a shriek upstairs, and a maid came tearing onto the landing with the lead pirate close behind, waving his pistol.  "Down there with your master," the pirate ordered.  He didn't wait to see that she did as she was told—the girl was too terrified not to obey—before opening the doors of several of the bedrooms, clearly searching for something.

Swann instinctively beckoned to Mary, nervously watching the pirates as the maid came to stand behind him.  "Just do as they say," he whispered to her.  He noticed one pirate's eyes resting appreciatively on her through the holes in his mask, and said shakily, "Just take what you came for and go."  There was a wild shout from one of the guest rooms.  "Sir Reginald!" Swann shouted, fearing the man would be fool enough to try and challenge the pirates.

"Shaddap!" A fist connected with Swann's face, sending him crashing against the wall.

"Master!" shrieked Mary, scrambling to his side as Swann tried in vain to crawl away from the pirate looming over them.

"That's enough!" shouted the lead pirate's voice, and the other drew back.  "I told you these people were not to be harmed!"

"Sorry."

Swann blinked up at the tall pirate leader.  The masked man carried neither Swann's strongbox nor any family valuables.  Clasped almost reverently in his hands was Sir Reginald Hamilton's white sword.  He stared at Swann for a moment, his eyes dark and frightening to the governor.  Then he turned sharply and said, "Let's go," and the pirates were gone before Swann and Mary had time to do more than let out their breath.

There were gunshots and cries in the distance as Swann dashed up the stairs, shouting for his guest.  "Sir Reginald!  Where are you?"  He burst into the guest room to find that it had been rifled, with Hamilton sprawled upon the floor, his face a bloody, bruised mess.  The nobleman had not let his prized possession go without a fight.  "Mary, fetch hot water immediately, and send Simpson for help!"

***

Lieutenant Gillette feared Commodore Norrington would have his head for failing to repel even a small pirate raid.  But in the end, it was the size of the attack that had proved the most difficult to deal with.  The pirates had been clever enough to strike on a cloudy night, in a small ship that some of the harbor guards had caught only vague glimpses of before she melted back into the blackness, and—worst of all—with a well-executed plan.  Oh yes, Gillette had know doubt these creatures had known precisely what they wanted, where to get it, and how long it would take.  They had struck shore in three groups:  one to strike the wealthiest part of town, one to raid the governor's house, and another to lead the soldiers at the fort on a wild goose chase away from the harbor and the other raiders.

_I'll never get that promotion now._

To Gillette's relief, there had been few injuries; the pirates had seemed more interested in stealth and speed than violence.  And all in all, the town's losses in damage and booty had been negligible.  So once that had been established, Gillette answered the governor's summons quickly.

He found the house undamaged, but a physician had already arrived and was blotting blood from Sir Reginald Hamilton's face as Governor Swann looked on, wringing his hands.  "The pirates robbed Sir Reginald, Lieutenant.  They took an heirloom of great value--"

"Priceless, damn it, it was priceless!" snapped Sir Reginald, batting at the doctor's hands as the man tried to begin stitching his torn cheek.

"Sir, you must hold still--"

"I hold you responsible for this, Swann--"

"Sir Reginald, Governor, can you describe the pirates?" Gillette interrupted.

"They wore masks," Swann told him with a sigh.  "There was one in the lead of the men who came here; he was taller than the others, with dark eyes.  He is the one who went upstairs and assaulted Sir Reginald."

"And where, Governor, were you when I was so foully robbed?" demanded Sir Reginald.

"Being held downstairs at the point of a gun," Swann retorted, sounding cross with Hamilton for the first time.

"Sir Reginald," Gillette said urgently, "is there anything else you noticed about the man who attacked you?"

Hamilton made a noise like a growling dog, and answered, "He knew about the white sword.  I did not have it in my hands, but he demanded it.  When I attempted to stop him, he struck me.  He seemed mad, beating me with his fists."

"Odd," muttered Swann.

Hamilton went on, "After he had done brutalizing me, he tore the room apart until he found the case, and took the sword.  He struck me once more before he left."

"And there was nothing unusual you could notice about him?  That we might use to identify him?" Gillette pressed.

Hamilton frowned, pondering it.  "He had a scar.  On the palm of his left hand, long and thin.  It caught the candlelight.  And his hands were rough, workman's hands."

"Hmm.  That's something, I suppose.  Doctor, see that Sir Reginald is given the very best of care.  Gentlemen, I'll be at the fort, organizing our pursuit.  Please send word to me there if you remember anything else.  Good evening."  As Gillette started for the door, he paused.  "What was odd, Governor?"

Swann shook his head, looking baffled.  "Sir Reginald mentioned that the lead pirate seemed wild.  It was odd to me because when they trapped me downstairs, he seemed strangely calm for a pirate.  He ordered that I myself not be harmed, and the house not touched."

Gillette was quite startled.  "That is very odd.  Very odd indeed."

_To be continued…_

**_Coming Up Next:_**_Elizabeth__ gets promoted from __Tortuga__ barmaid to member of the _Black Pearl's_ crew, Commodore Norrington and Captain Jack Sparrow find themselves almost allies, and we finally learn the **real** origins of the white sword._

**Don't forget to review!**


	7. Chapter Six: A Pirate's Life For Me

**_Author's Note:  _**_And so, **Update Fest** begins!  My multi-fandom readers will be delighted to hear that **all** my fics are being updated this weekend!  I apologize again for keeping all of you waiting.  I'm trying my best not to start any new material until I finish these pending stories, though I can't make any promises where the muse is concerned.  My heartfelt thanks for all the reviews.  They mean the world to me._

**Chapter Six:  A Pirate's Life For Me**

_The Black Pearl, the next morning…_

"All aboard, all aboard, step lively now!" Jack gestured wildly at his crewmembers to pick up the pace as they staggered and dragged themselves on deck.  They'd been quite put out with him for being forced out of Tortuga after only one night, but not a one had taken Jack up on his offer to find a different ship.  Once they were all gathered, shielding their eyes and slumping against the rigging after a night of revelry, he announced,  "Allow me to begin by saying how very, very sorry I am to take you from your hard-earned rest!"

He got a loud grumble in response, and a snarl of "This better be damn good," from Anamaria.

"Oh, don't worry, love, it's good all right.  What if I was to tell you lot that I'd got wind of the finest prize since Isla de la Muerta?  And that if we want to be the first to have a crack at it, we'd best be setting sail smartly?"

The mutterings were less hostile now.  Anamaria pursed her lips before asking, "What sort of prize?"

"Wellllll, what sort of prize do we pirate sorts usually go after, eh?" he grinned winningly at her.  She wasn't pacified, of course.  Never ceased to amaze him how she could be so utterly immune to his charms.  "Don't be getting churlish now, your Captain Jack's a man of his word.  I'm only asking you to be a little understanding if I keep the specifics to meself this time.  Got meself in a bit o' trouble last time I gave out too many details.  Once bit, twice shy and all that.  BUT…" with a dramatic wave at Gibbs, Jack saved the most amusing part for last.  "I'm also pleased to announce we've got ourselves a new addition to the crew!"

The crew exchanged baffled glances.  They'd not brought on a new sailor since rescuing Jack from Port Royal two years before.  Jack could hardly wait to see the looks on their faces.  Gibbs rapped on the door of the captain's cabin, and Jack watched with delight as jaws slowly dropped among his men (and woman.)  "I present to you, the newest lady pirate on the Caribbean, Miss Elizabeth Swann!" he announced, and reached behind him to haul Elizabeth forward by the arm.

There was a _very_ long silence, broken (as usual) by Anamaria.  "Where…the…_hell_ did you get her?"

"Oh, come on, love, use those brains I know you ought to have," he told her sweetly.  "We've docked nowhere but here in weeks."

"What in 'ell was she doin' in Tortuga?" demanded one of the others.

"Long story," said Jack dismissively.  "Anyway, lads, make our newest recruit welcome!  She's coming with us on this little trip.  Now to work, all of you, and get us under way!"  He waved them off, and started toward the wheel.

Elizabeth had been surprisingly quiet—almost meek, actually—as she stood beside him in front of the crew, and when he walked away, she followed him.  "You lied to them," she said in a low voice.  "Why?"

Jack took the wheel, eyeing the ship-clogged mouth of the harbor with a grimace.  "Because, lass, I don't intend to find meself on the wrong end of another mutiny.   Besides, 'twasn't really a lie."  He heaved a theatrical sigh.  "Love is, after all, one of those great treasures that men seek all their lives, as every poet knows."  He batted his eyes at her.  "Savvy?"  She gave him that usual look of combined admiration and disgust, and shook her head.

Anamaria stalked up to them.  "If you're to be comin' with us, you're to be useful.  Even Jack's not going to persuade us to carry a deadweight around."

Jack noticed the rest of the crew pausing in their work and watching with interest.  He elected to keep himself out of it, and instead cast speculative looks from Anamaria to Elizabeth and back again, smiling serenely to let them know that they were to handle it.  Elizabeth was silent for a moment, then said, "I assume you have something in mind?"

Anamaria looked the other woman up and down scornfully.  "Depends on what kind of work ye be capable of!"  

Elizabeth's eyes hardened to a dark look Jack had never seen before.  Aye, Tortuga had toughened her, that was certain.  Without another word, the governor of Jamaica's daughter stepped back, casting narrowed eyes from Anamaria to the rest of the crew, then held out her arms and deliberately rolled up her sleeves.  Jack decided this was the opportune moment.  "Well, that's settled, then.  Anamaria, you'll give Elizabeth her duties from now on.  Doubt you'll disappoint us, eh, love?"  Elizabeth shot him a scornful look, and started to follow Anamaria back to the steps.  "Oh, and Anamaria, me love?  You know…" he toyed with the wheel grips, grinning, "since Elizabeth's here, you're not…exactly the only woman aboard anymore…"

Anamaria furiously folded her arms.  "No_._"

"Ohhh, but Anamaria--"

"_No!_"

Jack raised both hands at her.  "Sorry, love.  Captain's orders.  You'll share your cabin with Elizabeth, and be nice about it!  And she'll repay your hospitality with good, hard work, won'tcha, love?"

"Absolutely," said Elizabeth, folding her own arms and glaring at Anamaria.

"Right-o, then!  Off you both go!"  Jack sighed as the wind filled the sails over his head, watching Anamaria put Elizabeth to coiling and stowing the long lines.  "Makes the ship feel so homey with another lady around."

"Aye, and it's twice the bad luck," growled Gibbs from behind him.

***

_Aboard the _Lady Laurel_…_

"Loose the topsails, you scabberous sea-dogs!" the first mate bellowed.  "Full sail!  You there, Turner!  What ails you?"

Will swallowed another wave of nausea and pulled back from where he'd been leaning over the edge of the bulkhead.  He couldn't bring himself to look at the others.  "You take a hit?" asked Krighton.

"Yes," Will lied.  "It's not bad."

"Getcherself below then.  We gotta beat a path out of 'ere before the whole bloody navy's out after us.  _Lady Laurel_ can't take much in a fight."  Will didn't answer and stumbled below to collapse into his berth.

The White Sword hung at his waist, its weight feeling great enough to bring the whole ship down.  _Dear God, what have I done?_  He had led brigands into Port Royal in the dead of night and seen them running into the market districts to plague the merchants and tradesmen he had done business with.  He had broken into _Elizabeth's house_!  He had pointed a gun at the face of her father!  Will leaned over the side of the berth again, his stomach lurching at the memory of the terror on the faces of Governor Swann and Elizabeth's maid.  The whole attack had been a blur when they'd actually been there, his mind racing to get the job done as quickly as possible.  But now it played over and over before his mind's eye, torturing him.

_I'm a pirate._

The thought was not a pleasant one.  Will knew Jack Sparrow was both a pirate and a good man, and Captain Willem was as well, so there could be no doubt that it was possible to engage in piracy without losing one's soul…was there?

_What have I done?_  _Elizabeth…_ his stomach warned him of its rebellion in time to leap from the berth and stagger to the porthole.  Resting his head against the cool, damp bulkhead, Will fingered the weapon at his side, recalling the wanton brutality he'd inflicted on her house, her father, and her suitor.  The last part he wanted very much to forget.  The only blessing this night was that the maid had had the good sense to lock Elizabeth's bedroom door.  Will didn't know what he would have done if he'd found himself face-to-face with her.  Somehow he didn't think she would have been fooled for an instant by his mask.  

Will walked slowly back to the berth once his stomach was completely empty and sank back into it.  He still hadn't taken off the white sword, but couldn't seem to bring himself to do it.  He'd been persuaded by Captain Willem's vague allusion to the weapon's danger, but he couldn't deny that he'd been an all-too-willing participant for other reasons as well, when he fingered its smooth perfection.  

_ "And you're completely obsessed with treasure."_

_ "I am not obsessed with treasure!"_

_ "Not all treasure is silver and gold, mate."_

The ship was moving very fast now, probably already out of Kingston Harbor.  Will's eyelids grew heavy, drawing toward an oblivion he hoped would be free of loneliness and guilt.

_Elizabeth, forgive me._

***

_The _Cardinal,_ on the Atlantic Ocean…_

"Ship to starboard!" Commodore Norrington heard the watchman cry.  

Instinctively, he followed Captain Haile to the side, peering at the white sails in the distance.  "She's closing fast.  Do you recognize her, Commodore?"

Norrington took the spy glass from him, eyeing the vessel only for a moment before recognizing her.  "It's the _Ursula_, Captain.  One of Port Royal's."  As he watched, another flag rose to join the British flag.  "Bearing a message for us, from the looks of it."

"Heave to!" ordered the captain.  "Let's hope it's not bad news."

Norrington's wife came on deck as the _Ursula_ came up alongside them.  "What's happening, James?"

"I don't know," he told her.  "A message from Port Royal."

The _Ursula's_ boat glided over to their side, and Norrington watched with a growing sense of foreboding.  Gillette would not have sent the fastest ship in the fleet after them without good cause.  What could have happened?  He could guess a few things, none of them good.

Captain Kennedy climbed aboard, saluting Norrington and Captain Haile.  "Commodore, Captain."

"Welcome aboard, Captain Kennedy," said Haile.  "Please come below."

"Of course, sir, and may Commodore Norrington join us?  I have an urgent message from Lieutenant Gillette."

"This way, sir."

Norrington's naval discipline had long since killed such habits as pacing, but he felt an incredible urge to do so as the two captains went through the tired formalities before Kennedy could deliver Gillette's message.  "Lieutenant Gillette sends his apologies for interrupting your honeymoon, sir.  But there is a serious situation in Port Royal.  Miss Elizabeth Swann has vanished."

Norrington felt his heart go to his throat.  _I feared she would do something rash.  What a fool I was not to see that she and Turner were a truly well-matched pair._  Aloud, he repeated calmly.  "Vanished?"

"Without a trace, sir.  Mr. Gillette has had the entire town searched repeatedly, but there is no sign of her.  He fears she is no longer in Port Royal.  Governor Swann begs your immediate assistance."

_I should have taken more action.  I should have stopped the _Greymalkin._  I should have had Turner arrested before he could leave.  I should not have left with Elizabeth in such a state._  Norrington swallowed, reading Governor Swann's letter.  _Fool.  Bloody, thoughtless fool.  He regrets his actions now._  "Captain Haile, I thank you for a smooth voyage.  I am only sorry that I will not be able to see England again.  I will be disembarking at once."

"Aye-aye, sir.  I will have your bags transferred to the _Ursula_ immediately."  Norrington was already on his way to the door.  Haile and Kennedy hurried after him up onto the deck.  "And Mrs. Norrington, sir?" asked Haile.   

"My wife will remain aboard the _Cardinal._  I'll arrange to rejoin her as soon as possible."

"What?"  The lady in question came swiftly to Norrington's side.  "James, what has happened?"

"I must return to Port Royal, my dear," he said, hoping she would not press him.  But Lucinda had grown rather averse to being kept in the dark after the ugly revelation of her father's activities, and no longer accepted a vague answer.  Seeing her narrowed eyes, Norrington sighed and told her, "I have bad news.  Elizabeth has disappeared."

Lucinda's hand flew to her mouth.  Norrington saw his bags brought on deck, and said, "I promise I'll do everything in my power to find her.  I am sorry our honeymoon may have been cut short."

"You think she went after Will Turner?"

Norrington raised his eyebrows at her.  "Don't you?"

"Without doubt," she said.  "You're to leave at once then?"

"I'm afraid so."

Lucinda nodded.  "Very well.  Gentlemen," she turned to the crewmen who were carrying Norrington's bags, "kindly transfer my bags to the _Ursula_."  The men looked at her, then to Norrington.  Seeing her husband's reluctant expression, she qualified it, "Only the necessary ones."

"My dear…" said Norrington.

Lucinda stared at him.  "James?"

"Lucinda, perhaps it would be best if you continue on to England," he told her quietly.

The crew and other passengers busied themselves as the Norringtons drew closer together.  Lucinda's expression was guarded.  "Why should I not go back with you?"

James took her hand and said, "Because I expect to be in Port Royal only long enough to learn the situation and then begin searching.  I will not stop until Elizabeth is found.  And once that is done, she won't allow me to stop until Will Turner is found.  That could take a very long time."

"And what shall I do in England?" For the first time since he had known her, James Norrington heard real contention in Lucinda's voice.  "I want to stay with you."

"It will be at least another week at sea, Madame," said Captain Kennedy, coming to join them.  "And I beg your pardon, but the _Ursula_ is a military ship."  At Lucinda's frown, he elaborated, "What I mean is, the accommodations are hardly suitable for a lady."

Lucinda turned toward the smaller ship.  "I'll manage."  She looked back at James.  "I go with my husband."

Kennedy looked at Norrington, who hesitated only a moment before turning to two of the crewmen.  "Gentlemen, my wife's bags, if you please."

"Yes, sir."

As he assisted Lucinda into the longboat, he warned her, "I may still be gone for some time."

"Then I'll wait for you in our house."

***

_Aboard the Black Pearl, a week later…_

"You're right good at this, Miss Elizabeth," said Mr. Gibbs, finding Elizabeth on her hands and knees caulking the timbers with Bolls.  

Elizabeth wedged a final strip of oakum between the planks and pulled her hands clear while the dwarf added the hot pitch.  "I can pull my weight," she replied curtly, and scooted over to the next spot, her back to Gibbs making it clear that she was _not_ in a talkative mood.

Gibbs shook his head and went up to the helm.  "Anamaria's a bad influence on that lass," he told Jack.

The captain raised his eyebrows and looked down at Elizabeth; she did appear a bit on the sullen side.  Then Jack smiled.  "Got nothing to do with Anamaria or unladylike labor, mate.  Our Elizabeth's just got a bad case of the lovelorns."

"Are we takin' her back to Port Royal, then?" asked Gibbs.  

"We're going there, but I doubt she'll be going ashore unless her lad's there safe and sound," said Jack.  "But it's as good a place to start as any."

"You do plan on avoidin' the Royal Navy, don't you?"

"Of course," Jack sounded offended.  "Not that I think our friend Norrington would open fire on us without warning, but Elizabeth says he's off on his honeymoon, so the fort's left in the hands of his lackie Gillette—and _that_ one reminds me of Will when I first met the lad.  Evil pirates, and all that.  Though I must say, I'm rather put out at not having been invited to Norrington's wedding."

Gibbs' laughter was interrupted by a shout from the watchman.  "Sail ho!"

Jack whipped out his spyglass, aiming at the white sails on the horizon.  "And speaking of the bloody devil!"

"Navy?"  Gibbs peered over Jack's shoulder as Anamaria and Cotton came running up behind them.

"Aye-aye, the _Dauntless_, no less.  On an intercept course, from the looks of her."

"What orders, Captain?" asked Anamaria.  

"Ready the guns, you dogs!" Jack snapped, returning to the wheel.

By then, Elizabeth had also joined them.  "You're not going to shoot at them!"

Jack toyed with his moustache, raising his eyebrows at her.  "Let us, shall we say, examine the situation, love.  We're the most well-known pirate ship in the Caribbean.  The flagship, if you will.  Heading straight at us with full sail is none other than the flagship of the British Royal Navy, under the command of someone who is most likely _not_ your bloody friend Norrington, who at least has had dealings with us before!  Care to explain to me the wisdom of _not_ having the guns ready?"

"I…but…"

"Patience, love.  Hate to admit it, but your _Dauntless_ is a rather well-matched opponent—I'd be just as thrilled as you to get out of this without firing a shot, but no harm in being prepared, eh?"  He patted her cheek.  "Run along now and lend a hand."  

Gibbs thought she still looked dubious, but to his surprise and grudging respect, she obeyed Jack.  "Still on an intercept, Cap'n!" 

"Load the port guns!" Jack bellowed.

"Flag, Jack?"

"None.  Let Britain's fine upstanding sailors announce their intentions first."  

The captain and crew of the _B lack Pearl_ watched as the flagship of the British Caribbean fleet bore down on them.  "Cap'n's better off keepin' 'er at a distance if ye ask me," muttered someone.

"Pipe down there!" snapped Gibbs, shielding his eyes from the glare that half-hid the ship.  The _Dauntless_ tacked until it was no longer silhouetted against the western sun, then Gibbs spotted the white standard being raised up below the British colors.  He shouted along with the others.  "A white flag, sir!"

Elizabeth followed Gibbs back to the helm.  "Jack, they may be looking for me.  I don't want them to know I'm here."

"Say no more, missy.  I won't send you packing.  Once they're in range, get yourself below.  Here," Jack handed her the spy glass.  "Recognize anyone?"

Gibbs watched as Elizabeth aimed the glass at the ship.  Her eyes widened.  "It's the Commodore!" she exclaimed, turning excitedly to Jack.  "He's come back!"

"Probably looking for his wayward lost love," said Jack.  To the crew, he shouted, "Run up a white flag!  Let's see what they want!"

"Aye-aye, Cap'n!"

Elizabeth snorted and looked again through the glass.  Her face fell to a scowl.  "What's _he_ doing there," she muttered.

"Translation, lass?"

Elizabeth stepped back and slapped the glass into Jack's hand.  "I think I'd best go below now, Captain Sparrow."

Jack wrinkled his nose at her.  "All right then, love, since you were kind enough to address me so nicely, I'll let you off the hook.  Wait in my cabin, and we'll share all the juicy details of the discussion soon as they're gone."  As she scurried to the stairs, Jack shouldered Gibbs out of the way and called, "Keep your positions at the deck guns, but close the lower ports!"

"Aye-aye!"

Gibbs could see the red and blue-clad soldiers on the deck of the _Dauntless_, fortunately not showing any obvious signs of preparing to fire on the pirates.  Rather, they stood with the same uneasy attention that the _Pearl's_ crew below him was showing.  There were more than a few furtive glances from the lower deck back up to Jack, who for his part looked perfectly relaxed at the helm.  The warship glided by, bigger than the _Pearl_ in actual mass, if slower.  "Heave to!  Take in sail!"  Jack shouted, watching the distance of the _Dauntless_.  "Steady as she goes."

The _Black Pearl_ came to a stop at the same moment as the _Dauntless_, the helms of both ships side-by-side with just enough sea room between them to prevent boarding by force.  "There's the Commodore, sure enough," said Gibbs, seeing the white-brimmed hat coming past the marines to the side.  Behind him was that Lieutenant Gillette, and a very well-dressed nobleman with a fearsome scowl upon his face.  "What now, Jack?"

"Ahoy there, _Dauntless!_" Jack bellowed.  

"Captain Sparrow?" Norrington shouted back.

Jack swept off his hat with an effusive bow.  "To what do the humble pirates of the _Black Pearl_ owe the honor, Commodore?  How may we be of service?"

"I have a serious matter to speak to you about!" called the Commodore.  "Would you be willing to come aboard my ship?  I believe you will wish to hear this news!"

Jack made a show of waggling his eyebrows at the crew, whose expressions were dubious.  "Welll, I don't know about that, good Commodore!  I seem to remember the hospitality of your officers and gentlemen was a bit lacking last time I was aboard the _Dauntless_."

"You'll have amnesty, sir.  I give my word you will be allowed to return to your ship, and we will take no hostile action against the _Black Pearl_."  Apparently, the nobleman behind Norrington took issue with that promise, and began arguing vigorously with him.  Norrington waved him off sharply.

Gibbs leaned forward.  "I don't like it, Jack.  Could be they suspect you of bein' involved with Miss Elizabeth's disappearance."

"Aye, and in a way, I am, mate," said Jack.  "But for all he's a pompous ass, Norrington probably doesn't think that."

"Who's the coxcomb?" muttered Gibbs, nodding discretely at the nobleman.

"No idea."  Then Jack grinned, "But I'll wager me hat that's the one Elizabeth's all ruffled at.  I got a better idea."  He cupped his hands to his mouth again.  "How about this, Commodore!  You and a few of your men are welcome to join us here on the _Black Pearl!_  With the, ah, amnesty, and all that.  You can even bring guards, if you like!"

That got both Gillette and the nobleman protesting, but Norrington cut both of them off.  He talked at length with one of his marines while the pirates watched, then finally came back to the side of the _Dauntless_.  "I accept your offer, Captain Sparrow."

"Very good, Commodore!" Jack bowed again, and turned to the crew.  "Gentlemen—and lady—we're to have guests!"

***

"Norrington's boat's almost here, Jack," Anamaria warned as Jack finished giving some last-minute instructions to Elizabeth.

"Right, then.  Keep your ears open, and not a sound if you don't want them to drag your pretty tail back to Port Royal," he warned Elizabeth again.  "I'd better go greet your bloody friend Norrington."  

"He brought the fancy linen," said Gibbs as they headed on deck.  "Less guards than I expected.  Just that Gillette character and a couple marines."

"What about our lass's father?  The Governor.  Any sign of him?" asked Jack.

"Nope.  Think they're only lookin' for her?"

"Could be, if Norrington's willing to talk first, shoot later.  Ah, there they come.  Commodore Norrington!  Welcome aboard the _Black Pearl!_" Jack shouted, giving his guests an even more sweeping bow.  "If you'd care to step into my cabin, we can have our little chat."

Gillette looked about to argue, but Norrington silenced him with a glare as they walked up the deck.  "Thank you, Captain Sparrow."

Jack grinned to himself as he led the way.  This would be fun.  Once in his cabin, he looked back at them as quick as possible to see expressions on the fine, upstanding king's men's faces when they saw the spread of food he'd ordered for his table.  Norrington looked quite aghast, but he rallied his forces quicker than Gillette and the strange noblemen, who still looked positively horrified.  "I trust you gentlemen have no objections to breaking bread with a pirate?"

"None at all," said Norrington before the others could respond, though he sounded slightly choked.  

Once they seated themselves, Jack raised his eyebrows at the stranger, who had conspicuously failed to be introduced.  "I don't believe I know your civilian friend."

The well-dressed man looked utterly affronted at being spoken of by a pirate.  Norrington cleared his throat.  "I beg your pardon.  This is Sir Reginald Hamilton, recently arrived from England."

Jack inclined his head graciously, causing Anamaria, who was pouring wine across the table, to bite her lip to hide her grin.  He greatly enjoyed the discomfort on Norrington's face at having to go through the proper polite motions of actually starting to eat before getting down to business (though Norrington at least touched the food, unlike Gillette and Hamilton) but finally got bored with the game and said, "Well now, what can the crew of the _Black Pearl_ do for His Majesty's Navy?"

Norrington sat back with an expression that clearly said _at last_, and told Jack, "We were hoping you might be able to shed some light on recent disturbing events in Port Royal."  At Jack's affected surprise, he said, "Miss Elizabeth Swann and Mr. William Turner have disappeared."

Jack cocked his head in feigned surprise.  "Disappeared?  Together?"

"No.  Mr. Turner was seen boarding a ship bound for Pearl Point some weeks ago.  Miss Swann vanished later that night."

Jack noticed Hamilton gritting his teeth, and recalled Elizabeth's tearful explanation of the events leading to her arrival in Tortuga.  _"He thought I didn't love him…_"  Hmm.  Maybe the reason Will had been under that obviously erroneous impression was currently sitting on the other side of the table?  _Though how a bright lad like Will would think Elizabeth was interested in a fop like that is beyond me.  Obviously not her type._  To Norrington, he asked, "Sure they didn't just elope?"

With a nervous glance at Hamilton, Norrington replied, "Quite sure."  He looked genuinely worried, though Jack had heard from Elizabeth that Norrington had already found himself another girl to be Mrs. Commodore.  "Do you have any idea where they might be?"

Jack toyed with his beard.  "You say young Will's ship was bound for Pearl Point?"

"That was its, shall we say, purported destination."

"Ah," Jack waggled a finger at Norrington.  "You're a step ahead of 'em already, Commodore.  You know where that ship's really most likely headed, eh?"

"It is my understanding that certain vessels purportedly bound for Pearl Point are in fact bound for Tortuga, running supplies for pirates and black marketeers."

"Right you are, mate.  Unfortunately, I was in Tortuga only a few weeks ago, and saw no sign of the lad, or Elizabeth.  But I'll certainly keep me ears open."

"Thank you, Captain Sparrow."

Jack could see Hamilton shifting impatiently, and stood up with a rush of mischief.  "Not at all, Commodore.  If that's all—"

"No…sir, that is _not_ all," said Hamilton.  Jack stopped in mid bow and stared down his nose at the nobleman, who was still seated.  The man scowled back at him, clearly regarding Jack and the _Pearl's_ crew as little more than wild animals to whom he, _Sir_ Reginald Hamilton, would never willingly give his attention.  "Commodore Norrington has not yet established your alibi for the time of the raid."

Jack drew himself up in mock surprise.  "A raid, you say?"

Norrington cleared his throat loudly.  "Yes.  One week ago, three parties of masked pirates raided Port Royal.  They looted part of the town, injured officers at the fort, and attacked Governor Swann's house."

"One of them robbed me of a priceless heirloom!" Hamilton snapped, glaring from Jack to Gibbs to Anamaria, his implication clear.

Jack minced his way back to his chair and sat down.  Propping his chin on his hand, with his elbow on the table, he drawled, "What…sort…of heirloom?"

"I believe it was a sword," said Norrington quietly.

"Got no shortage of swords on the _Black Pearl,_ mate," said Jack, waving his hands around the cabin dismissively.  "And you'll recall, Commodore, that our course this afternoon takes us _toward_ Jamaica, not away from it.  Wouldn't make much sense to be going back to the town we'd just plundered.  And," he leaned back in his chair, "my lads don't need to be wearing masks."

"A likely story," muttered Hamilton, but Norrington was shaking his head.

"All accounts say the ship that attacked Port Royal was small.  The _Black Pearl_ is unmistakable."

"The pirate who struck me knew about the white sword."  

Jack blinked.  "White sword?"

Norrington narrowed his eyes.  "You've heard of it?"

"Something, maybe.  A sword that's white ain't exactly commonplace."  Jack had ceased to be amused by the conversation.  He nibbled lazily on an apple while keeping his eyes on Hamilton.  "Sports a mother-of-pearl scabbard, I believe?"  Hamilton was motionless, but Norrington nodded.  "Decorated with pearl and silver?  Filigreed handle?"

"You seem very knowledgeable of the white sword, Mr. Sparrow," said Gillette.

Jack watched Hamilton from over the rim of his wine goblet.  The man was sheet white, his eyes bulging as he stared back at the pirate captain.  "I'd reckon most pirates are…knowledgeable of it, Lieutenant."  Then he grinned and leaned back again.  "But I myself have never had designs on the white sword.  It's a very…ambitious…prize."

Hamilton brought his fists down on the table and stood up.  "This is intolerable!  He knows nothing, either about the missing persons or the whereabouts of my sword!  If there's no information to be had here, then we've no reason to be sitting down playing at pleasantries with sea dogs!"  

"Sir Reginald," Norrington said sharply, but Jack just smirked.

Hamilton would not subside.  "I'm not staying here one moment longer.  Provided I can get off this ship without being further humiliated or robbed."  He turned on his heel toward the door.

Jack stood up.  "I assure you, _Sir_ Reginald Hamilton, that not a man jack of my crew will even dream of getting between you and your way off my ship."  Norrington's eyes narrowed, whereas Lieutenant Gillette appeared to want nothing more than to join Hamilton in fleeing the ship.

Norrington gestured for the marines to follow Hamilton and Gillette out, then leaned abruptly across the table.  Jack was surprised; however anxious the Commodore was to hunt down Elizabeth, it had been clear he was just as uncomfortable sitting down with a pirate as the others.  But for once, Norrington didn't appear to care in the slightest about Jack's occupation.  His voice held only grim worry.  "What about the white sword?"

Well, if the fine upstanding Commodore was willing to lower himself to a sincere conversation with a band of scalawags, Jack supposed he should return the favor.  He leaned forward and lowered his voice, letting himself be serious in return.  "It's an ambitious prize, all right, mate.  _Very_ ambitious.  There're some in your profession and mine who'd call me mad, but even I'm not so mad as that.  And whatever your Sir Fancy-Pants Hamilton says, it's no heirloom."

Norrington's face hardened.  "What?"

"Question any old sea dog you've got locked in that brig of yours at the fort.  All of 'em will bear me out:  your noble friend's no better than the most disreputable of us—hell, worse.  He's laid hands on a relic even the stupidest pirate knows better than to touch."

"Enough bloody riddles, Sparrow!" Norrington snapped.  "Who were those pirates?  Where did they take the white sword, and what does this have to do with Turner and Elizabeth?"

"Where was their ship last seen?" asked Jack.

"Heading northeast out of Kingston Harbor," said the Commodore, "not unlike your _Black Pearl's _heading after its attack on Port Royal."

"As brilliant a little jab as that is, mate, you might recall I was locked in one of your cells the last time the _Pearl_ attacked Port Royal," said Jack.  Norrington started to bristle, but Jack stepped back.  "Oh, stand down your guns, you've got bigger problems."

"You know who the pirates were?"

"Not the faintest idea, Commodore, but if the only thing they took of real value was the white sword, I can guess where they're headed."  Jack folded his arms, "Fortunately, you've already got the bearings."

"Isla de la Muerta," said Norrington.  "Why would they take Hamilton's sword there?"

"Because that's where it belongs, Commodore, and it's not _Hamilton's_ sword, or my name's not Captain Jack Sparrow.  Oh yes, that's the truth," he said, seeing Norrington's astonished expression.  "Your _Sir_ Reginald is as bad an egg as the worst pirate, with half the scruples.  And he's bloody lucky whoever knocked on the governor's door that night did him the favor of taking the sword off his hands before he got what's coming to him."

Norrington bristled.  "Sir Reginald Hamilton is my father-in-law."

Jack stared.  "Really?"

"Yes."

Jack fingered his trusty compass.  "That means I suppose, the girl you married…his daughter?"

"Yes."

"Hm.  Hope for your sake she takes after her mother." 

***

Elizabeth watched in silence from the little hiding space as Jack showed Commodore Norrington to the door.  "And what do you intend to do?" James asked.

"I'll see about catching up with your mysterious raider ship, same as you," said Jack.

"I'm not sure how Sir Reginald will take to joining forces with pirates," said James, and Elizabeth thought she detected a note of amusement in his voice.

"Then aren't we lucky I'm not suggesting it.  No offense, mate, but your _Dauntless'd_ never keep up with the _Pearl_, and for you and me both, the white sword had better get back where it belongs."

"Are you completely incapable of being straightforward, Sparrow?"

"Utterly and completely."

Elizabeth heard Jack follow Norrington out on deck, heard his bellowed, jesting farewells to the boat from the _Dauntless_, but to her surprise, he came back below very quickly.  Before Elizabeth could even reach the door, it was jerked open, and Jack had pulled her out by the arm into the cabin.  "Jack, what—"

"Why the devil didn't you tell me about that Hamilton character's sword?" 

Elizabeth was stunned.  She'd never seen Jack Sparrow look quite so grave.  For a minute, she just gaped, then blurted, "You never asked!"

Jack let her go and visibly pulled himself together.  In another second, he'd become so very much the swaggering, roguish character she knew that she wondered if she'd imagined his alarm.  "So that's the bloke who drove your Will away?"

With a thud, she dropped into one of the chairs, with her forehead on her fists and her elbows on the table.  "How did you know?"

"I may prefer chasing skirts to romancing, but I'm no fool, love.  And I know your boy.  He'd not have run out on you with just rumors and gossip.  Any chump who could lay hands on the white sword might even manage to fool Old Bootstrap's boy into believing his girl'd been taken in by someone else—don't ruffle your feathers at me."  Jack leaned against the wall and grinned at her.  "What gave him that impression?"

Elizabeth rubbed her forehead, shutting her eyes.  "My father…I…at his instruction, I put up with Sir Reginald's behavior far more than I usually would.  He…importuned me, brazenly, on the night of Commodore Norrington's wedding, and because of what my father had said, I didn't," she laughed bitterly, "I didn't give him the slap he deserved."  Jack chuckled.  "Will saw us and thought," she beat the table with her fist.  "He didn't even trouble to speak to me about it—oh, I'll _kill_ him!"

Footsteps thumped down toward the cabin, and Jack jerked his head at her to follow him to the door.  "_Dauntless_ is making sail, Cap'n," said Anamaria as they came out of the cabin.  

"And so are we.  All hands on deck!  Full sail!"  Jack bounded up to the wheel.  "We're coming about for Isla de la Muerta."

More than a few of the crew looked up at him in surprise.  "Back there?" asked Anamaria.  "Thought you said the treasure wasn't worth the risk of another curse—"

Jack made a face.  "Ain't the treasure this time, love.  Wish I could say it was."

"Then what in 'ell are we darin' that place for?" demanded Gibbs.

"Let's just say if we don't, ain't a pirate on the sea who won't be facing a curse," said Jack.  

"Shiver me timbers!" said Mr. Cotton's parrot, as the rest of the crew stared at Jack.

Jack saw them, shook his head, and elaborated, "You lot noticed Commodore Norrington's well-dressed friend?"

"Aye, Sir Reginald Whatsit," said Gibbs.  "You got 'im upset about something."

"Sir Reginald Fancy-Pants Hamilton," said Jack in a way that made Elizabeth want to giggle, "has gone and stuck his powdered nose where even the stupidest pirate knows not to be setting foot."  __

"And where exactly?" Elizabeth finally demanded.  "You still haven't said what the truth is about this white sword of his."

Jack waited to answer her until the _Pearl_ had come completely about and was already speeding northeast.  Then he started her swabbing the deck, but spoke up so she and the rest of the crew could hear.  "You know where we pirates and brigands get our booty, love?  By pillaging and pilfering, raiding and thieving.  But there're some caches and treasures even a pirate won't touch, if he's a mind to live.  Barbossa and his lackies—and nearly me, I suppose—found out the hard way.  Yet even that old idiot Barbossa wouldn't have been stupid enough to try and get his treasure from a ship sunk by any other than him."

Anamaria's hiss from up in the rigging distracted Elizabeth, then she looked back over at Jack.  "I don't understand."

"Ain't only cannon that can sink a ship, Miss Elizabeth.  Surely you know that," said Gibbs.

Elizabeth leaned on the mop, chewing her lower lip.  "Well…of course, ships sink all the time.  Rocks and weather and…" she saw their expressions.  "What?"

"Ain't just rocks and weather, Miss," Gibbs told her.  "That's the sea makin' a plunder of 'er own.  And it's a fool of a mortal who tries to challenge the sea."

"So…that's why pirates…and ordinar—I mean, sailors don't touch the relics of sunken ships.  You told me," she said to Gibbs, "on the crossing ten years ago.  You said lost ships are sacred."

"And right he was, love," said Jack.  "Every pirate knows it; looting a lost ship's a quick ticket to Davey Jones' locker.  The sea never gives up her spoils."

The mop had been scrubbing a circle over the same patch of  deck for five minutes.  Elizabeth plunked it back into the bucket in disgust, leaning back against the deck rail.  "Where did the white sword come from?"

Jack checked their heading with his compass, and turned the wheel a few points before speaking.  "Recall twelve years ago, love, when the _Pearl_ and me went after the treasure of Isla de la Muerta—and old Barbossa decided _he _wanted to be captain of my ship."  He rested his chin on the wheel and smirked.  "Don't need to tell ya how that turned out.  But anyway, what everyone seems to have forgotten is that the _Black Pearl_ wasn't the only pirate ship with that island treasure in mind."

"But you were the only one with the compass," Elizabeth guessed.

Jack waggled the compass at her.  "Exactly.  And a pretty fair number of 'em never came back.  It's a treacherous passage even for those who know where the island is.   Those who don't," he ran the palm of his hand into his balled fist, like a ship running up on a rock.

"And what about the white sword?" she asked.

"Ah.  The white sword was, shall we say, the trademark of a pirate by the name of Wellings.  Copperhead Wellings.  A man so vicious that even the strongest pirate flinches at the mention of his name—excepting myself, of course," Jack added.  "But he was a cunning old water snake, that's for sure, and took some grand prizes in his day.  His ship was the _Bloodstone_," a look of rare respect came into Jack's eyes.  Gibbs and the others leaned forward eagerly.  "She was a Spanish man o' war, seized by Copperhead and his crew on her maiden voyage—a beauty she was, one of the only ships in the Caribbean who could match the _Black Pearl_ for speed.  But like so many before him, Copperhead met his end on the passage to Isla de la Muerta, and you can see his grave there still, where it juts out the water at low tide.  But," he pointed ominously at Elizabeth and the others, "there's no pirate fool enough to contest the sea's claim on her relics.  Even scurvy sea-dogs like us don't set foot on a ship we didn't sink ourselves."  With a curt nod, he turned the wheel a few more points and let out a bark of contemptuous laughter.  "Obviously that's a lesson your Sir Reginald Fancy-Pants Hamilton never learned."

"So you think those other raiders are taking the white sword _back_ to Isla de la Muerta?" asked Elizabeth

"The white sword was the only thing of value they took," said Gibbs.  "It ain't in the Code for pirates to look out for each other, but we're all in trouble if Old Copperhead and the _Bloodstone_ come looking for their most famous treasure."  Elizabeth stared at him, and he nodded gravely.  "Oh, yes, lass.  You've 'eard the old tales of the fates that befall grave robbers.  The sea's a grave too, and just because some of 'er treasures can be seen don't give no one the right to disturb 'er slumber.  And if the crew o' the _Bloodstone's_ been rudely wakened, they'll be wanting their sword back.  Ain't no one safe on the seas till they get it."

Elizabeth returned her attention to the mop and shuddered.

***

_Aboard the Lady Laurel, two days later…_

"It's a bonny thing, isn't it?" sighed Krighton, as Will polished the white sword.  "As though 'twas carved from the shell of one bloody big oyster.  Shimmers like the moon."  He took the sword carefully and moved the lantern closer for a better look, watching the orange flames gleaming dully back in the mother-of-pearl's pale luster.

Will ran a finger across the scabbard, feeling its smoothness.  "Not a seam or an edge to be found.  I've never seen craftsmanship so fine as this.  It must have taken half a lifetime to fashion the scabbard alone."

"Don't get too attached to it, lad," said Captain Willem from the foot of the stairs.  "We'll be well rid of it once we get where we're going."

"Aww, Cap'n, why can't we keep it?" whined O'Malley.  "Ye dragged us all the way to Port Royal with barely a sack to show for it, an' now we gotta dump the best o' the loot!"

"Would you prefer being chased across the high seas by Copperhead Wellings and the _Bloodstone_?" asked Atticus.

Krighton dropped the white sword.  The chatter in the lower deck ceased.  Will looked up.  "Copperhead _who?_"

"'E ain't a pirate, Cap'n.  Doesn't know the story," said Krighton.  He picked up the sword and handed it gingerly back to Will.  "I'd forgot about this."

"This Copperhead was the previous owner of the white sword?" Will asked Atticus.

"No previous about it, son.  He's the _rightful_ owner of the white sword," said the captain.  Will's fingers unconsciously tightened on the beautiful weapon, and Atticus saw it.  "As I said, boy, don't get too attached.  It's not yours to claim, and there'll be trouble for everyone on the seas, pirate, merchant, soldier alike, if it's not sent back to the ship from whence it came."

"The _Bloodstone_ was bad enough in 'er day," said O'Malley. "I'm not keen on meetin' up with 'er now."

"Aye, and Copperhead Wellings was a pirate to be reckoned with."  Captain Willem marched toward the mess table, as several of the men moved hastily out of his way.  He helped himself to a mug of grog and a hunk of meat and sat down in the nearest seat.  

"You say he _was_ a pirate?" asked Will.  "What's to fear from him now?"

Atticus glowered at Will over his tankard.  "Dumb question, lad.  You remember the fate of the _Greymalkin_, just like you told me.  And then try and say there's nothing to fear from the dead who've been robbed."

Will's own dinner turned to mud in his mouth.  He stared at the pale glimmer of the pearl sword in his lap, remembering what he had heard on his last day aboard the _Greymalkin__._  _"The sea don't give up 'er spoils!"_  

He held the white sword up in the light, noting the way the men flinched away from it.  "This was stolen from a wrecked ship?"

"Not just any wrecked ship.  The white sword belonged to Captain Copperhead Wellings of the _Bloodstone_, as ruthless and hard a man as Barbossa himself—"

"—How do you know of Barbossa?!" Will exclaimed.

Atticus blinked.  "Every pirate left in the Caribbean knows about the mutinous Barbossa, son, and the sticky end he met.  One'd think that the fate of Copperhead Wellings would've been a lesson to him not to cross the captain of the _Black Pearl_."  Will leaned forward, for once forgetting all about the white sword.  Willem went on, "The _Pearl_ was captained by a man named Jack Sparrow."  Only by biting the inside of his mouth did Will manage to hide his grin.  He could hear Jack saying _Captain, it's Captain Jack Sparrow._  "Dozens of pirates, maybe even hundreds, had been lost trying to find their way to Isla de la Muerta, legendary home of one of the greatest treasure caches in the Caribbean.  About twelve years ago, good old Captain Jack showed up in Tortuga with a mind to go after it—and claiming to have the bearings."

"They say 'e 'ad 'em on a broken compass," put in Krighton.  "Doesn't point north, I's 'eard, but does point the way to the island."

Willem nodded.  "Just so.  But not everyone knew that at the time, save one.  Just after Captain Jack'd got together his crew, the _Bloodstone_ made port in Tortuga.  Story is that Jack—drunk, no doubt—told Copperhead Wellings about the compass.  When he realized what he'd done, he knew Copperhead'd try to get his hands on it.  So instead, he challenged Copperhead to a race, offering to give him the bearings and have both ships make sail at once.  Rumor had it that the _Bloodstone_ was the only ship in the Caribbean fast as the _Pearl._  All Tortuga was placing bets.  Would've been a grand event."

"I'm guessing this Copperhead was not to be trusted," said Will.

"Right you are, son.  The night before the intended race, Copperhead and his crew boarded the _Pearl_ in secret, trying to get into Jack's quarters and steal the compass.  Well, Captain Jack Sparrow's a savvy character, and he and his crew fought 'em off.  There's those of us who always wondered if the man on night watch didn't let Copperhead in, hoping for a bigger share of the riches."

"If Jack was asleep, it was probably the first mate on watch," said Will.

"Aye, it was.  You know the tale of the _Black Pearl_, lad?" asked Willem, regarding Will curiously.

"I've heard it.  I know the mutinous Barbossa was once Captain Sparrow's first mate."

"Exactly.  For a pirate, they say Captain Jack always was too honest for his own bloody good.  Nearly got him killed more than once.  Anyway, Copperhead managed to make a grab for the compass long enough to get a rough peek at the bearings, but by then Jack's crew had got into the quarters to back him, and Copperhead had to leave the compass and dive out the window.  The _Bloodstone_ set sail that very night.  Copperhead said he'd seen enough to find the island, and the treasure would be his alone.  But the passage to Isla de la Muerta is treacherous, my boy, and when the _Black Pearl_ came in after, they found the _Bloodstone's_ rigging sticking out of the water like dead bones.  Her belly'd been ripped clean open by the rocks, all hands lost.  Copperhead never got within sight of Isla de la Muerta."

"And the white sword was lost with 'im," said O'Malley.  "Belongs to Copperhead and the sea now, lad, and we'll be reckoning with both if we don't give it back."

Will sighed, running his fingertips again over the silver and pearl handle.  Atticus leaned toward him.  "It's not worth it, son," he said in a low voice.  "Steal a relic from a ship claimed by the sea, and you'll pay with your life, and then some.  That sword's beyond priceless."

***

_Late the next afternoon…_

Atticus walked through the silent crew cabin on his way to his own quarters when his watch had ended.  The few men not on watch were asleep, and though Atticus was tired himself, he took a few steps out of his way through the row of berths, until he could see the dark head in the hammock closest to the wall.  Will's face was completely relaxed in sleep, but Atticus could tell that like himself, the boy would be up like a shot at the slightest sound.  Still, Atticus had no desire to wake him now, but stared more openly than he should have at the tan face, heavily-lidded eyes, and dark curls brushing the boy's jaw line.  The young Turner had been sleeping very heavily lately when off duty, and Atticus suspected it was out of a desire to escape the guilt the boy felt at having attacked his former home.  After the raid, the captain had heard that Turner had been hit, and had rushed below decks to make sure he was all right.  He was, but he'd been nigh unconscious with red eyes and a pallid face, and the men reported he'd looked positively ill on returning to the _Lady Laurel._

The sword hadn't left the boy's sight since then, and even now he had it clutched in his hands as he slept.  Atticus knew what the boy was thinking; Will believed he'd sold his soul for the weapon.  _Being a pirate doesn't make you a monster, lad.  I've seen real monsters, and you'll never be like them._  Of course, there was no use telling Will that now.  The trip would get nastier the closer they got to Isla de la Muerta—Atticus didn't think Old Copperhead would take the loss of his trademark lying down.  He'd be very surprised if the _Bloodstone_ wasn't already abroad on the Caribbean.  It was up to the _Laurel_ to get the sword back in the water where the ship had fallen before Copperhead decided take revenge on them.

He cast one more glance at the sleeping Will Turner, then headed for his own cabin.  But as his luck would have it, he'd barely opened the door before the deck bell rang wildly, and the watchman cried, "Sail a leeward!"

Atticus sighed at the thought of his lost appointment with his pillow and trudged back up the steps.  "Where, Mr. Dunsford?" he asked the first mate.

Dunsford pointed at the silhouette against the setting sun.  "A galleon from the looks of her, sir.  Could be a warship."

"On an intercept?" asked Atticus.  He aimed his spy glass at it, but the glare was too bright to get any clear view of the ship.  "Can't see a bloody thing.  Get all hands on deck, ready the guns until we learn her intentions.  Full sail ahead.  Until we get Copperhead's sword back where it belongs I don't want to risk any nasty encounters."

"Aye-aye, sir.  All hands on deck!"

The crew scrambled on deck.  Atticus noticed that Will had the sword strapped to his belt.  At least they knew where it was at all times, though if this ship were a naval vessel or worse, they'd have to hide it.  "Keep an eye on her.  Once the sun's down a bit, we should have a clear view.  Full speed ahead, Krighton."

"Aye!"

The _Lady Laurel_ was small, but fast, which was precisely the kind of ship Atticus Willem had sought.  She cut through the water like a flying fish, but it was soon clear to all aboard her that her speed was matched by the galleon behind them.  The men went about their duties tensely, watching as the ship's sails, black against the sun, grew larger and larger, until at last the sun was low enough to where they could distinguish the vessel.

"Oh bloody barking hell!  Black sails!  It's the _Black Pearl!_"

"We're in the _Pearl's_ territory, I'm not surprised," said Atticus.  To himself, he murmured, "Well, I knew I'd be meeting up with him sooner or later, I suppose now's as good a time as any.  Although," he glanced at Will up in the rigging, "maybe not.  Maybe now's a worse time than any."  He raised his voice, "Forget it, lads.  Trying to outrun the _Pearl_ is a fool's errand."

"So's fightin' 'er!" cried Krighton.  Next to him, Will stared down at Atticus, his face unreadable.

"I've no intention of fighting her.  Take in sail and heave to.  Run up a white flag."  The crew looked doubtful, but did as they were told.  Atticus reassured them, "Captain Jack Sparrow's a decent pirate, and we've got little to interest him.  Once he establishes that, he'll probably send us on our way."

Once the _Lady Laurel_ had been brought to a stop, Will climbed down from the rigging and stood a little behind Atticus, a very strange look in his eyes.  "Ye've 'eard of the _Black Pearl_, ain't ye, me lad?" asked one of the men.

"Yes."

Atticus stared at him.  Considering how the boy had reacted to his own first pirate raid, he certainly didn't appear disturbed by the sight of the greatest pirate threat on the Caribbean.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  Before Atticus had a chance to question the boy, the _Black Pearl_ was pulling up alongside.

"And there be the man 'imself, a legend in 'is own time," said Krighton, blocking Atticus's view with his curiosity.

Indeed, there he was, standing with puffed up importance at the helm of the _Black Pearl_:  Captain Jack Sparrow, running his eyes over the _Lady Laurel_ like a fox inspecting a chicken coop.  Atticus debated how best to go about this meeting, then finally decided he might as well get it over with.  With that in mind, he brushed Krighton out of the way in time for Jack's gaze to fall upon him.  "Ahoy, there, _Black Pearl_!"

The reaction he got was just as he'd predicted.  Captain Jack Sparrow, the most imperturbable pirate on the Caribbean, was perturbed.  He released his hold on the wheel of his precious ship, and took a few steps toward the deck rail, his jaw hanging open.  Then, in proper Jack Sparrow style, he recovered so swiftly that those watching might have thought they imagined his brief loss of composure.  He leaned against the rail and shouted back, "Ahoy, _Lady Laurel!_"

"Captain Atticus Willem at your service, sir," said Atticus, before Jack had the opportunity to speak more.

Jack was silent for several beats, one eyebrow raised.  Then all at once, both eyebrows nearly vanished under the rim of his hat, and his gaze flicked away from the other captain.  Atticus glanced over his shoulder and found Will just behind him, wearing a rather sheepish expression.  He looked from Will to the captain of the _Black Pearl_ again.  So, that explained a great deal.  The pirate and the boy had definitely met before.  

And that put Atticus in an awkward position.  Fortunately for him, Jack Sparrow was a perceptive man, and rose to the occasion.  Sweeping his hat off, he gave a grand bow.  "Captain _Willem_ of the _Lady Laurel_, very pleased to make your…acquaintance."

"Likewise, Captain Sparrow."

So much for getting any sleep.

_To be continued…_

**_Coming up next:_**_  Will's going to be hard-pressed enough to survive getting the white sword back where it belongs—but will he live through his reunion with his lost love?  A race against time and tide begins!  Oh, and if you haven't figured out who the mysterious Atticus is by now, I recommend watching the movie again!  _

**Don't forget to review!**


	8. Chapter Seven: Reunions

**_Author's Note:_**  _I regret to announce this will be my last update until June.  Finals are now upon me, and they require my undivided attention.  I hope this round of updates will tide you over until then.  Please wish me luck in my exams, and the journal write-on competition.  This is an important time for us inspiring lawyers.  Oh, and congratulations to all of you who figured out who our mysterious Atticus Willem is, and to those who still haven't, well…maybe this chapter will help._

**Chapter Seven:  Reunions**

"Mind if I come aboard, Captain…Willem?" bellowed Jack.  "Got to make sure you lot aren't sneaking through the _Black Pearl's_ waters with contraband goods, eh?"

"You're welcome!" the other captain shouted back.

"Hand me a long line, Mr. Gibbs," said Jack.

Gibbs did so, but frowned at the smaller ship.  "Never seen this ship before, Jack.  How ye be knowin' they're to be trusted?"

"Trust _me_," Jack told him, then slung the line into the _Lady Laurel's_ rigging, and swung across.  He landed neatly as the rest of the ship's crew made way for him.  Turning to face the _Laurel's_ captain, he bowed yet again.  "And what's a little flute like yours doing on this treacherous pass—" At that instant, he spotted the telltale gleam of mother-of-pearl and silver hanging from Will Turner's hip.  "Well, well, well, what have we here?"

Will flushed and tried to hide the incriminating sword, then realized it was a futile effort and dropped his head.  One of the _Laurel's_ crew shook their heads.  "Lousy pirate, this one."

Jack snorted.  "I could've told you that."  How, out of all the pirates in the Caribbean, Will had wound up with _this _one, Jack would dearly love to know, but at the moment, he had a problem.  His initial intention would have been to haul Will, willing or not, back aboard the _Pearl_ to face the wrath of his bonny lass (who was at present fuming below decks) but he now faced two daunting obstacles: Will was in possession of the white sword—_Will Turner!  Of all people!  HA!—_and in the company of this, er, Atticus Willem.  No, getting Will off this ship would not be nearly so easy.

Speaking of "Atticus," the other pirate was frowning, sensing that Jack had intentions involving Will.  "So, Captain Sparrow?  Are you here to collect a tribute?"

The crews of both ships were watching the exchange with interest.  Jack folded his arms.  "As a matter of fact, yes, Captain Willem, and I do hope there won't be any trouble.  I mean to confiscate the _two_ most precious things in your possession." 

Perceptive as ever, the other captain saw precisely what Jack meant.  His eyes narrowed, and he walked a few paces away from the rest of the crew.  Jack followed, and "Atticus" asked in a low voice, "What do you want with him?"

"Don't panic, mate, I won't hurt the lad.  But he's got some unfinished business aboard my ship, and I needn't point out to you that the white sword'd be better off getting ferried by the _Pearl_ than the…_Lady Laurel_, is it?"

"She's a good ship."

"I'm sure she is," Jack grinned.  "But you know she's no match for the _Pearl._"

"What precisely is this business you have for Will?"

Jack grinned broader still.  "It's not my business exactly.  It's his, er, _business_," he said, accompanying the word with a slightly lewd gesture.

The other pirate's suspicion lessened, but he still asked, "What _sort_ of business?"

"A nice…pretty business, with a pair of big…brown eyes," Jack elaborated slyly.

"Atticus" set his mouth in a thin line.  "This business wouldn't happen to be named Elizabeth, would it?"

Jack was surprised; he hadn't expected Will to tell anyone about his bonny lass, if he believed she'd betrayed him.  "Aye, that's the girl.  Told you, did he?"

"In a manner of speaking.  What intentions has she toward him?"

"You're hardly one to judge, old B—"

"_Atticus__._"

"Sorry.  Atticus.  Anyway, let's just say the lad's made a bit of a mistake about his lady's heart, and while he may be in store for a good hiding, I doubt she'll do any permanent damage.  Apart from marrying him, that is."  The other captain's mouth gave an odd twist that seemed to be a half-smile, half-grimace.  Jack shrugged, "At least he's proven he's not a eunuch."  That remark might have gone over well with any other pirate but this one.  Time to put his foot down.  "Sorry, _Atticus_, but I must insist.  The _Black Pearl_ can get the sword back where it belongs a lot faster than your little boat, and the younger Mr. Turner owes some explanations to his fair lady."

Jack raised his eyebrows expectantly at the other captain; what Captain Jack Sparrow wanted, Captain Jack Sparrow got.  Even this pirate wasn't fool enough to contend with him.  Visibly gritting his teeth, "Atticus" finally nodded.  "All right.  Will and the sword go with you."  He left it at that, but Jack could tell what else the man was thinking as clear as if he'd said it aloud.

"I'll look after him.  Good lad, even if he does have a tendency to do things that are really, really stupid."

"Stupid?"

"Honest, your Will.  Utterly, shockingly, hopelessly honest," Jack told him.  It was explanation enough; the other captain's snort told him that.  Then he glanced up at the darkening sky.  "And if we're to get that sword back where it belongs before them that owns it come looking for us, we'd best be running along.  Will the _Lady Laurel _be following?"

"You'd bloody best believe it," growled the other captain, following him back to the rest of the crew.

"All right.  Will, you're with me," Jack said, tossing the long line at him.  He raised his eyebrows at the other captain.  "Going to take your leave of the lad?"  _Got something you ought to be telling him, I think._

Will cleared his throat and held out a hand to "Atticus."  "I owe you my life, sir."

"Not at all, young lad," said the older man, gripping the boy's hand harder than strictly necessary.  "Take care.  I hope to be seeing you again once this little errand's run.  Captain Sparrow can get the sword where it belongs faster than us."

"Thank you, sir.  For everything."  With that, Will took the long line and swung across to the _Black Pearl._

"Captain _Willem_, sir," said Jack grandly, catching the line as Will threw it back.  "Fair voyage to you."

"And you, Captain Sparrow," replied the other pirate.

Jack looked at him in bemusement, and finally hissed, _"What the devil are you waiting for?"_

His old friend gave a wry smile, then muttered back, "The opportune moment."  

***

_Aboard the Black Pearl…_

"Welcome back, Mr. Turner!" said Gibbs cheerfully as Will turned to greet Jack's crew.

"Mr. Gibbs," said Will.  Although it was rather nice to see the _Pearl's_ company again, he found that it wasn't quite the same.  Then again, he supposed nothing of his past life would be the same.  He had lived two lives now:  one with Elizabeth and one without her.

Jack swung aboard behind him.  "All hands to the braces!  Full sail ahead!  Let's get this bloody plunder back where it belongs!"  The crew scrambled to do his bidding, and Jack grinned broadly at Will, nodding to the sword.  "Well, well.  For someone who once had such a bleak outlook on pirates, you seem to have gone _all_ the way to becoming one."

Will looked away, only to see Anamaria staring at him from the wheel.  He turned his gaze to the sea.  "It's not as if I really had a choice."

"Ohhh, don't know about that, mate.  Let's see now," Jack counted thoughtfully on his fingers.  "Ran away from your proper respectable trade, bought a passage on a shady vessel, led your very own sack of the richest and wickedest city in the Caribbean…" the pirate grinned broadly at Will and nodded to the white sword hanging at his hip.  "And…you're _still_ completely obsessed with treasure."

_Elizabeth…_

In a rush of horror, Will felt his throat tighten.  He fumbled at the sword and pulled it loose from the belt still in the scabbard, thrusting it furiously toward Jack.  The other pirates recoiled with curses, muttering, "Don't want to be taking that!"

Jack raised his eyebrows, and Will growled bitterly, "Take it!  If you want it, take it.  I don't want to hear about treasure anymore!"  He just wanted to be out of sight.  What a sport they would make of it if his emotions got the better of him.

With deliberate fingers, Jack reached out and plucked the sword from Will's hands.  "Very well, I'll hold your booty for you for now.  Not that I want it, mind you, no one with sense wants to have this thing in his hands any more than the Aztecs' gold."  He wandered up to the helm, taking the wheel from a grinning Anamaria.  "But you, my friend, have some unfinished business to attend to at the moment, and I expect you're going to need both your hands."  He grinned past Will at the crew.  "Steady as she goes!"

The crew sniggered around them, and Will sighed heavily, not in the mood for Jack's games.   "You're mistaken," he said dully, coming up to stand in front of the wheel facing Jack. "The only business I have to finish is getting that thing back where it belongs.  Once that's done you can put me ashore wherever you like.  I have nothing to hold me anywhere."

Keeping one hand on the wheel while turning the white sword over and over with the other, Jack chuckled.  "Oh no, mate, it's you that's mistaken.  You've got _business_ here, without a doubt."  His black eyes flicked to something behind Will, and the grin grew broader than ever.  "Don't know if I envy you or not."

The laughter died down abruptly, and with a huff of annoyance, Will turned around to see what was amusing Jack so much.

His heart froze in his chest, while his breath froze in his throat. 

Standing at the top of the stairs to the quarterdeck was a woman, clad like Anamaria in boots and breeches and a man's shirt with laces added to the front to make it fit as well as could be managed, given that it was several sizes too large.  The wear and tear on the garments was obvious, the work stains standing out against the white shirt and the woman's fair-but-sunburnt skin.  Her brown hair was braided and pinned tightly to her head, and her large brown eyes were fixed on Will with a most peculiar expression.  

He could not be certain how one might describe the look upon her face as she returned his gaze, but at the moment he was too stunned himself to do more than gape.

"_Elizabeth_?" he choked out, his throat preventing him from speaking louder than a whisper.

Her lips parted slightly, but she too seemed at a loss for words.  She came slowly toward him, her head tilted quizzically as though sizing him up to her memories.  He stared helplessly back, unable to connect the governor's daughter he had last seen laughing by the side of a handsome, wealthy nobleman with this woman sailor before him.  What on Earth was she doing here?

Elizabeth stopped in front of him, staring up at his face with that utterly inscrutable expression.  Neither of them noticed that the entire deck had gone silent except for the creaking and whispering of the wind in the rigging, and the washing of the waves.  Elizabeth slowly raised a hand as toward his face…then hauled off and slapped him so damned hard that he staggered right into the wheel.

"You deserved that, mate," Will heard Jack say over the ringing in his ears, but he had no time to reply before a feminine roar of fury warned him of Elizabeth's approach—not in enough time to protect himself from her hand seizing his ear in a savage grip.

_ "Aah!"_ Will cried in protest as he was hauled by the ear away from the wheel.

The crew's howls of laughter were drowned out by Elizabeth's tirade, which crashed over him like a tidal wave.  _"William Turner, you bloody swine!  _I should tear your bloody ear off right this minute!  How _dare_ you abandon me without so much as a goodbye—_you filthy louse!_  To think that I'd give you up for that—that—_oooh__! _ You never even bothered to _ask_ me where my heart lay, you didn't trust me, you ran away like a bloody coward and left me there with those—_cads_!  _All_ of you, treating me like some kind of prize animal, _cads_, the whole lot!  Do you have any idea what I've been through searching for you?!  _Do you?!_  It's so bloody easy for you men to go scampering off into pirate hives and come out unscathed—_a whole bloody month _I spent—oh, damn you, _damn you!_"

Will could do no more but reel helplessly under the onslaught, any possibility of defending himself verbally or physically hampered by the fact that Elizabeth had yet to let go of his ear—which was now beginning to feel in serious danger of being torn off.  Finally, she did release him—or rather, shoved him savagely away so that he crashed into the bulkhead.  Gasping and grunting and clutching his pained ear in one hand, Will squinted at Elizabeth in astonishment, striding towards him in the late afternoon sun like an avenging angel.  Hands seized his shoulders and jerked him upright, and he found himself staring into her eyes, bright and wild with fury.  Then all at once, her lips slammed into his with as much force as she had used to slap him before, and he was as helpless against this attack as he had been against the other.  He returned her frantic kisses, baffled and buffeted like a ship on stormy seas, unable to slow his reeling mind enough to comprehend what was happening.  All that he could be sure of was the taste of her lips wildly assaulting his, and her hands running up his chest to grip his shoulders…

Then she tightened her grip on him and began shaking him vigorously by the shoulders and shouting all over again.  "I _cannot_ believe you, Will Turner!  After all we went through, with Barbossa and the _Black Pearl_ and the curse and the pirates and Jack and the curse and the hanging and Barbossa, _how could you trust me so little?!  _All the promises, all the plans we made, all the sacrifices—_Will, how dare you leave me?!_"

Jack was watching idly from the wheel, with Anamaria just behind him, and when he turned he saw her leaning against the bulkhead, grinning broadly and biting her lip to hold back her laughter while she stayed out of the way of the rampaging Elizabeth.  "Growing on you, isn't she?"

"A bit."

Up until now, the only sounds from Miss Swann's unfortunate wayward suitor had been grunts of surprised protest and the occasional yelp of pain.  Inevitably, Elizabeth's eruption wore down, and she flung Will away from her with one final, ringing slap that left him seated, stupefied, on the deck, and then she stormed back down the steps and disappeared into the hold—to the thunderous applause of the crew.

Ears ringing and in considerable pain, cheeks reddened from two immensely powerful slaps, and head shaken half off his body, Will sat stunned on the wooden boards for some time.  The crew, chuckling among themselves, simply worked around him.  At last, he whispered, "Jack?"

"Aye?"

"What happened?  What…how did she get here?"

There was a theatric sigh from behind him, and the rigging creaked as the ship came about a few points.  "One sorry suitor you've been, my friend.  I discovered your bonny lass ten days ago when the _Pearl_ made port in Tortuga."

Will's heart leapt up into his throat.  "Tor-Tortuga?" he whispered.  _Elizabeth…there?  Dear God…_

Mr. Gibbs' leather flask was abruptly shoved into his line of vision.  When he didn't reach for it, Gibbs grunted in annoyance and seized his hand, slapped the flask into it, and shoved it toward him.  "You'll be needing that, lad, it gets better."

As Gibbs walked away, Will stumbled to his feet and went to stand next to Jack.  "What was she doing in Tortuga?  How did she get there?"

Jack clicked his tongue and sighed, rolling his eyes.  "Bit slow on the uptake, you are."  He took the flask from Will and had a swallow himself before continuing, "From what I was able to gather from her, she found out somehow that the ship you ran away on was bound for Tortuga, and so ran away herself in pursuit of you."  Will felt an icy shiver run up his spine.  "She bought herself a passage on a vessel of ill repute, only to get herself robbed as soon as she disembarked.  Brave lass, I'll give her that, but didn't have the smarts to be discreet."  Will grabbed for the flask and took a gulp of strong rum, ignoring the acid taste.  He tried to hide the fact that he felt like his soul was being gouged out as Jack continued, "When I found her, girl'd been wandering the docks of Tortuga for a month, looking for you.  Have to hand it to her.  Don't know many society ladies who could survive as well as she did.  Somehow she managed.  And so I brought her back aboard the _Black Pearl_ and heard the lady's sad story about the faithless lad who'd abandoned her because he thought she loved another.  And she's been pulling her weight round here ever since."

"Oh God," Will sank back to the deck, leaning against the bulkhead with his forehead on his knees.  "Oh, Jack, dear God, what have I done?  I didn't know…I thought she'd be happy with him, I thought…"  he couldn't speak anymore, but just groaned.  He would never have imagined it possible to feel more desolate than he had when he had left Port Royal believing Elizabeth had chosen someone else.  Now…_I abandoned her.  I never bothered to ask her face-to-face.  I owed her that much.  After all we'd…oh God, how could I do such a thing!_  Elizabeth…alone in Tortuga for a whole month…the thought was too horrible to describe.  His stomach churned as questions roiled in his brain.  How had she survived?  If anything had—dear God, _everything_ that had happened to her was his fault!  "Oh God, I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Jack cleared his throat loudly as he stood at the wheel.  "You know, don't want to meddle or anything, mate…but I don't think I'm the one you're meant to be talking to."

***

Elizabeth paced back and forth in the cabin she shared with Anamaria, torn between laughter and tears.  She had no wish to deny how much she'd enjoyed giving Will Turner a hiding he would never forget—and his response had been most comical—but now that her initial fury had wound down, the reality of just how long it had been since she had seen him was sinking in, and she ached.  There could be no doubt of Elizabeth's heart; she still longed for Will Turner.

The sound of footsteps broke her out of the maudlin reverie, and she waited.  Most of the rest of the crew tended to thunk loudly up and down the stairs; these steps were light.  She knew them, and cursed the way her heart began to race.  _I'm _angry_ at him, dammit!  Angry! _ 

But her heart seemed determined to make her melt far sooner than she wanted, given the way it jumped when there was a timid little knock on the cabin door. Elizabeth pursed her lips, still struggling to keep up her expression of intense displeasure with Will after all he had put her through, and opened the door.  And the sight of him there, head hanging, eyes on her for only an instant before they dropped to his feet, so utterly forlorn, nearly led her to cave in right there.  Her voice was higher pitched than she'd intended.  "Yes?"

Will swallowed hard, keeping his eyes lowered.  "May I see you?" he asked softly.  "Please?"

_Oh…stop that!  STOP THAT already!  I am ANGRY!_  Silently, not trusting her voice, she opened the door wider and motioned him in.  He entered without looking at her.  She folded her arms and forced a continued scowl, trying not to notice his slumped shoulders.  "Well?"

"I…" he stole a glance at her and swiftly looked away.  "Elizabeth, I…didn't…I'm sorry!" Will blurted, looking at her with wide, anguished eyes.  _Oh, damn…_  "I'm so sorry!  I thought…I was a fool, and I thought Hamilton—"

That at least she could remain angry about.  "Kindly don't mention that cretin's name."  Will blinked.  Elizabeth hurriedly looked away from him and said, "That lout and my father conspired to importune me at every opportunity."

"I thought..."

"I know perfectly well what you thought, William Turner, and I am disgusted with you for it," she said, keeping her eyes on the cabin wall.  "That you would think after all we had been through that I would turn on you for _anyone,_ let alone that…that…_ooh!_"  Elizabeth paced back and forth across the cabin, seething and refusing to look at him.

She could hear Will's ragged breathing, and stomped her feet harder as she walked to drown it out.  It didn't help that the cabin was barely six feet wide.  But the noise of her boots couldn't drown out Will's voice.  "Jack said he found you in Tortuga.  He said you left Port Royal that very night."

Elizabeth stopped pacing and leaned against the cabin wall again, keeping her back to him.  She nodded.  "I bartered a passage there on a pirate ship."

"Were you…" Will trailed off, and Elizabeth turned to look at him.  His face wore a pinched look as if his insides pained him.  "Elizabeth…I will not blame you if you never speak to me again.  But I have to know—were you hurt?  Did anything happen to you?"

How she loved the sound of his voice.  But now its quiet desperation was driving her mad, and the nearness of him was causing every nerve in her body to tingle.  In this closet-space she could not get any further away from him unless she crawled into one of the berths, and, well…no.  A part of her wanted so vindictively to make him suffer for all she had been through in the past six weeks, but… "I wasn't hurt.  There were a few frights, but that's all.  I survived."

"How?"

"Does it matter?" she demanded, rounding on him.  Will flinched, and her heart skipped in spite of herself.  _Will you stop being so…so…_

"It does matter," he said suddenly, so softly she barely heard him.  "Everything that happened to you matters to me.  More than anything because your being trapped there at all was my fault."

"I wasn't trapped," Elizabeth said.  Will blinked.  She sighed, "I didn't have much money, but if I had wanted to go back home, I had several chances."  She looked hard at him.  "But home would be nothing to me without you."

With a noise that sounded suspiciously like a stifled sob, Will flung himself at Elizabeth and threw his arms around her, embracing her so tightly that she gasped.  "I'm sorry," he breathed, kissing her furiously.  "I'm so sorry.  I should never have—I'm such a—I love you!"

"And I love you, Will Turner, and don't you ever, _ever_ forget that again, or so help me I'll rip your ear off and make you walk the plank!  I'll told you that night; I am yours and you will never be rid of me!  Don't you _ever_ forget that again!" Elizabeth growled at him between kisses.

"I won't," he rasped.  "I won't.  I promise."

There was a loud rap on the door that sent them both leaping apart.  "Break it up in there and getcherselves on deck!  Cap'n says game's afoot!"

***

The thick fog bank surrounding Isla de la Muerta hung like a curtain on a stage, concealing anything moving or stirring behind.  Jack saw Will and Elizabeth scampering on deck and beckoned them over.  "Here," he shoved the white sword at Will.  "Keep an eye on it.  Elizabeth, love, get on those guns with the others."

Elizabeth didn't appear to have heard him.  She was watching Will strapping the white sword to his belt.  "Where did you get that?" she asked.

"Long story, love, and no time to tell it now.  Run along!" Jack ordered.  

With a parting frown at Will, she obeyed.  Will's face was flushed.  "What happens when we get back to Isla de la Muerta?"

"Well, if we're lucky, we'll find the _Bloodstone's_ bones still sticking out of the water where she first went down, throw old Copperhead's sword back into her depths, and be on our way," said Jack, checking his compass.

"And if we're unlucky?"

"Then the ship won't be there, and we're going to have to find her.  And send her back to her grave with the sword."  Will shuddered, but Jack saw his hand tighten on the weapon.  "Don't get any ideas, lad.  That's not yours to keep."

"I know, I know," sighed the boy.  He looked bitterly at it.  "How could Hamilton have got his hands on it?"

Jack shrugged.  "Couldn't say.  Elizabeth says he arrived in Port Royal a few days before you and she took off?"  Will nodded.  "Would've been sailing in rough weather, then.  His ship might've been blown off course—a few men have found Isla de la Muerta that way.  _Bloodstone_ went down very close to the entrance of the passage.  Old Fancy Pants might've stumbled across the wreck and decided to go treasure hunting, or the sword might've been where he could see it, and he snatched it.  Who knows?  Doesn't matter.  Either way he's a fool."

The fog broke over the ship.  "How close are we?" whispered Gibbs from nearby.

"Real close.  Take in sail.  Will, get forward."  Before the boy started down the deck, Jack grabbed his arm and said, "Obsessed with treasure or not, you're not stupid in a greedy sort of way, so don't start now.  When I tell you, throw that sword."   

Will looked back at him, surprised by the grim tone of his voice, and swallowed hard.  But then he nodded and headed down the deck.  Jack grinned to himself; the kid might have taken a fancy to the white sword—connoisseur he was, and all that—but right now he was likely too preoccupied with the _other _treasure that had just been returned to him.  _And even I can't blame him for fancying that sword.  Pretty weapon to be sure; I might well have contended with Copperhead for it in life.  But never in death.  No, sir, not in death._

Jack checked the compass; they were coming up on the _Bloodstone._  He motioned the crew to keep quiet while he listened.  The _Pearl _slipped silently through the fog, the only sounds the breeze in her sails and the water washing along the hull.  He squinted through the mist.  But his heart was beginning to sink.  The _Bloodstone's_ bones should be rising out of the water right here, along with the remains of half a dozen other wrecks, but…the surface was smooth.  The _Pearl_ drifted closer, with every sailor aboard her scanning the ocean for any sign of the dozens of sunken ships that littered this passage into the island.

The mist lifted somewhat.  And there was nothing.  It was the easiest entry Jack had ever had.  The rocks were still there, but the graves of all those ships and all those crews…gone.  One would never know how many sailors had been claimed by this passage.  There was not a sign of a ship anywhere.

The _Bloodstone _was gone.  And so was every other wreck on the passage to Isla de la Muerta.

Up in the rigging, Mr. Cotton's parrot intoned, "Deeead men tell no taaaales…"

"Now they bloody do," Jack muttered, spitting out several curses.  "Every bloody one of 'em."

Will came back toward the helm.  "Jack," he whispered frantically.  "What do we do now?"

"No need to whisper, lad," said Jack.  "There's no one here to hear you.  And now, it looks like me old mate Copperhead and I are going to have that race after all.  Now we've got to find him before he finds anyone else."

"How're we going to do that?" demanded Gibbs.  "Fallen sailors has the sea on their side!  How're we to contend with Copperhead now?"

Jack grinned.  "I'd have thought you'd realized, mate!"  He leaned against the wheel.  "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!"  There was a low groan from one of the starboard guns—had it been Anamaria or Elizabeth?  Jack glowered at them both, then bellowed, "Loose the topsails, you scabberous dogs!  We're hauling wind!"

Tightening the belt that secured the white sword to his person, Will ran up to the helm as Jack brought the _Pearl _about.  "Do you really think you'll be able to catch the _Bloodstone_?"

"Aye, and once Copperhead realizes we've got the sword, it shan't be too much trouble to lure his _Bloodstone_ in.  But we've got to find her first."

*** 

_Some miles behind the _Black Pearl…

"Brace yourselves, lads, we're starting a larboard tack!" Dunsford shouted to the _Lady Laurel's_ crew.

Atticus Willem did so, grimacing as he fought to push the _Laurel_ through a strong northeasterly wind—which was determined to drive any ship in precisely the opposite direction from the one Atticus wanted to go.  Even the _Pearl_ had probably had difficulties getting through this breeze.  

So naturally, it did not come as much of a surprise when the _Black Pearl_ suddenly came streaking back from Isla de la Muerta, hauling the wind and going like the devil.  She was going so damned fast that Atticus didn't have much time to do more than to lean over the deck rail to hear Jack's shout, "We were too late, Captain!  Old Cooperhead's gone on a pleasure cruise!  We're off to find him!"

And then they were gone, as Atticus cursed and ordered Dunsford to bring the ship about.  So that was why the wind had changed.  The _Bloodstone_ had already left.  Krighton jumped down from where he'd  been loosing the topsails and demanded, "Why the 'ell are we chasing after the _Pearl_?  Couldn't catch 'er if  we tried, an' we're only putting usselves in the _Bloodstone's_ path, once Copperhead realizes the _Pearl_'_s_ got something of his!"

"Because if he's going against Copperhead now, Captain Sparrow's going to need all the help he can get, now back up to the crow's nest and keep a good lookout.  _Bloodstone_ could be anywhere," said Atticus.  Krighton obeyed, still muttering, and Atticus returned his gaze to the sea.  In a low voice, he muttered, "Besides, Jack and his _Pearl_ have still got something of mine."

***

_Aboard the _Black Pearl…

Jack was keeping most of the crew on watch at any time, but early the next day, he came off duty at the same time as Will and Elizabeth and ushered them both to the mess.  "Better eat up, mates, once we find Copperhead, there won't be much time for material pleasures."

Will watched Elizabeth in fascination, and no small measure of apprehension.  For a lady accustomed to the finest food and comforts that life had to offer, she took the drab food and grog of the _Pearl's_ fare without even blinking.  Then at one point, when she got up to refill her tankard and Jack, Cotton, _and_ Anamaria all wanted refills as well, she grabbed all four, threading her fingers between the handles, refilling them from the barrel, and handing them back to their respective owners as if it were nothing.  Anamaria saw Will's expression and started to laugh, "Aye, lad, ain't the first time she's done that.  Used to it by now, I wager."

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth sat down and took a swig of her own tankard.  "That's how I survived," she told him shortly.  It didn't seem like something she wanted to talk about, so Will left it, but now she was watching him.  He was still wearing the white sword.  "It was you who raided Port Royal, wasn't it?  You and that Captain Willem."

Will nodded, afraid to look at her.  "He knew about the white sword.  He said you would be in danger if we didn't get it back to Isla de la Muerta."

"Was anyone hurt?" she asked quietly.

Keeping his eyes on his barely-touched plate, Will murmured, "One of the crew struck your father.  I tried to—keep everyone safe.  Sir Reginald put up a fight over the sword, and I…" he gulped from his own cup.  The mess had gone very quiet.  Will felt sick when he remembered striking Hamilton.  Oh, he hated the man, hated him with all his heart, but that hadn't warranted the viciousness of the attack.  But the pompousness of the man, representing everything in the world of value that Will had been denied, had driven the young man into such a fury that it had felt like the very hand of God was driving him when he had lunged at Hamilton and struck the nobleman over and over.  Will had never known such a desire to cause _pain_.  It sickened him now, to know that he was capable of such base cruelty.  Even to someone who so richly deserved it.  "I tried to keep him from coming to any harm.  None of the servants were hurt.  Nothing else in the house was taken."

He could feel her eyes on him, but he had no courage to look up.  "W-Will—"

The deck bell rang wildly.  Gibbs bellowed,  "Sails a windward!  Captain!  Sails!" and they all stampeded out of the mess.

Jack nearly knocked Will down the stairs and into Elizabeth and Anamaria in his haste to join Gibbs at the helm.  The man had the spyglass in his hand and pointed to the southwest.  Jack grabbed the glass and peered at the dark blob on the horizon.  There were many sets of sails, some looking rather askew, but more important, telltale flashes of light and puffs of smoke.  "It's an engagement.  All hands on deck!  Man the guns!"

The crew scrambled to obey, and Jack took the wheel.  "My God, it's the _Dauntless!_" gasped Elizabeth.  

"What?  Are you sure?"  Will jumped down next to her.

"Aye, that's her all right," said Jack.  "And that's the _Bloodstone_ moving in for the kill."

"Why would Copperhead attack the _Dauntless?_"

"Who knows?  Can't rightly explain what drives the sea's dead, lad.  Could be the _Dauntless_ is the first ship they came across, or could be that your bloody friend Norrington has a passenger ol' Copperhead recognizes."

"What?"

"Reginald Hamilton is aboard the _Dauntless_," Elizabeth told Will, making a disgusted face.  "Looking for his sword."

"I—"

"Ready the guns!" bellowed Jack.  "Hands to the oars!"  Will dove for one of them and started rowing.  "Pull!" Jack shouted.  "Pull!"  They were coming within range of the _Bloodstone _and _Dauntless_, and dead sailors began jumping from ship to ship, putting the _Pearl_ in their sights.  "Make ready to fire!"  To Will, the sailors aboard the lost ships looked reasonably normal, if a bit more bedraggled than average.  Not unlike the undead crew of Barbossa's, he observed dryly.  They roared their challenges at the _Black Pearl_ as she aced toward their flagship.  "All right, lads, let's take some heat off our Naval brethren!  _Fire!_"

Flame and smoke flashed from the cannon on both sides of _Pearl,_ blasting into the hull of the two nearest ships.  It was more than sufficient to cause the risen crew of the _Bloodstone_ to forget all about the _Dauntless._  As he rowed, Will got his first good look at the famous ship.  She was larger than the _Pearl_, made flush and heavily armed.  She must have been a terror during her days on the seas, but Will could see the gash in her hull that, by some miracle that he would never have believed but for the events of two years ago, took no water.  And her cannon and sails appeared to be working just fine.

Soldiers charged across the _Bloodstone's_ deck to deal with the new threat, but some were still firing on the dauntless.  "Will!  Sword!" shouted Jack.

Will traded places with Gibbs on the oar, and ran up to the helm, unfastening the sword from his belt.  He ran a fingertip across the smooth mother-of-pearl on its scabbard, then handed it to Jack.  "What now?"

"Now, lad, we tempt the fates," said Jack, as they came alongside the _Bloodstone,_ only just out of long line range.  The pirate thrust the white sword into the air.  "OY!  COPPERHEAD!  Looking for this?!"

There was a pirate in a large hat on the quarterdeck, definitely in the stance of a captain, and at Jack's shout, he spun around.  

Will gasped, and heard several of the others in the crew do the same.  Even Jack took a step backward.

Whoever this Copperhead character was, the pirate currently commanding the _Bloodstone _wasn't him.  It was Barbossa.

_To be continued…_

**_Next time:_**_The _Lady Laurel_ and the _Black Pearl_ come to the Royal Navy's rescue, and  Barbossa gets to face the former shipmates he betrayed—both of 'em.  We also meet the infamous Copperhead Wellings—but whose side is he on?_

**Don't forget to review!**


	9. Chapter Eight: Opportune Moments

**_A/N: WOOT WOOT!_**_I know what you're all thinking, and I quite agree—'bout dang time, eh? I am so, so, SO SORRY for making you wait like this! I just had a dreadful time getting some of the more emotional scenes on paper. I couldn't quite work out what would be going through everyone's head. There may yet be more revisions, but I've at least gotten to the point where I think this chapter is fit to be posted. _

_As always, constructive criticism and reviews are received with much squealing, especially this time. PLEASE give me your thoughts on the momentous reunion—you know which. I'm still not altogether sure that I'm happy with it, and your opinions would be much appreciated. You'll be glad to hear we're reaching the end of this tale very soon, so without a moment's wait longer…_

**Chapter Eight: Opportune Moments**

Elizabeth appeared at Will's elbow. "Jack, what—"

"Later, love!"

"Ahoy there, Jack!" Barbossa roared at them, his grin wicked. "Fancy meeting you here! Figures you'd have the white sword!"

As usual, if Jack was at all startled, he did not show it. Cupping his hands over his mouth, he shouted, "Love to chat about old times, mate, but I'm afraid we've got to send you back to the depths. Where's our old mate Copperhead?"

"He's over dealing with your Royal Navy friends! But I'll be glad to accept the sword for him!"

"Sorry, old boy, but we're to hand this pretty thing off to him who owns it!" called Jack. He handed the sword to Will again, just as shouts rang out on the deck.

Will spun around. "They're boarding!"

Like so many scuttling crabs, pirates scurried over the hull and onto the deck, having swam or walked or rowed over to the _Pearl_ under cover of the cannon battle. Jack grimaced; that was the closest he ever came to demonstrating any real alarm. "Sailed us into quite a pickle, I have. Take 'em, men, and Will, don't lose that sword! We've got to get it aboard the _Bloodstone!_"

Will pushed a musket into Elizabeth's hands and charged down the deck, drawing the sword. There were so many pirates swarming aboard, and if they were anything like Barbossa, they couldn't die. He ducked the swing of a small hand axe from one man and slashed back with the white sword, then scrambled to the rail they were climbing over, pushing, stabbing, and punching to throw them off again. There were dozens, swimming and rowing over from Barbossa and Copperhead's own little fleet. This was not good.

Anamaria stumbled into him after flinging yet another man overboard. Her sex made some sailors think her an easy target, but her agility and nimble skill as both a sailor and pirate reminded Will of a mongoose sometimes. She could duck a man's blows and send him flying into the sea with a few well-placed punches of her own before the poor blokes realized what they were dealing with. "Think Jack may've made a mistake," she grunted as they detached a grappling hook from the rail despite the weight of the men climbing it.

"We'll manage," Will replied. "Duck!" He shot another pirate right in the face, but all it served to do was phase the man long enough for them to get him over the side. They were still swarming up to the _Pearl_ like locusts. He wanted to see if Elizabeth was all right, but didn't dare leave this spot now.

"What happens if they get the white sword?" asked Anamaria.

Will shot at the hull of one of the approaching ships, trying to sink it. "I don't know."

"Aye, and I doubt Jack does either! Fine mess this is!" Anamaria aimed her gun at another, smaller approaching ship. "More company!"

Will hesitated; this ship looked different. What was—the sails! They were intact! "Wait!" he grabbed Anamaria's arm. "It's the _Lady Laurel!_"

The crew of the _Laurel_ was in as much a frenzy as the _Pearl's_, trying to hold off the dead sailors while sailing still closer. Will saw Captain Willem at the helm, steering the small flute, and suddenly it dawned on him what their aim was: to come _between_ the _Black Pearl _and the other ships!

Atticus Willem would save Jack Sparrow's ship at the cost of his own.

Anamaria and the others had realized the same thing. "He's mad!" said Gibbs. "They're done for!"

"Get lines!" cried Will. "We'll bring his crew over to the _Pearl!_ With this many men we may just hold them off!"

Either Jack's crew agreed with that assessment, or Will was held in higher esteem among them than he had realized, for they obeyed him without hesitating. Captain Willem ordered his crew to abandon ship, and they scrambled over to the dubious safety of the _Pearl_ as dead salors swamped the _Laurel._

Willem was the last. "Hello again, young Will. Have a torch handy?"

"A torch?"

"Aye, lad, quick now!" The dead sailors were crossing the _Laurel's _deck, aiming to reach the _Pearl_ next.

On Will's order, a torch was lit, and Captain Willem hurled it onto the _Lady Laurel's_ deck, literally at the feet of their attackers. Flames roared to life, spreading with astonishing speed across the wood, and the dead sailors leapt for safety. "We emptied a few barrels of grog and rum over the deck as we approached," said Willem. "Poor old _Laurel._"

"That won't hold 'em long," said Anamaria. "We gotta get the sword to the_ Bloodstone_!"

"If this Copperhead's aboard the _Dauntless_, perhaps seeing the sword will draw him back to the _Bloodstone_," said Will.

"Don't be absurd, lad!" snapped Atticus. "Nobody would last five minutes on the deck of the _Bloodstone _among that lot! It's suicide!"

"All I have to do is get Copperhead's attention!" Will protested. "It's what he's searching for, after all!"

"Boy's right, we'll be safe once the sea takes her own back," said Gibbs.

"If you go over there, he'll kill you, Will!" cried Atticus, startling them with his resistance.

* * *

A blast from the _Dauntless's_ cannon startled all of them, sending them scattering across the deck to see what new mischief was afoot.

Jack wrestled to maneuver the _Pearl_ around the _Bloodstone_ to the aid of the embattled Navy vessel, but Barbossa had guessed the gambit and was keeping them from reaching the _Dauntless._ Where old Copperhead was, Jack could only guess. If that pirate hadn't come out here with the _Bloodstone_, then they had themselves a serious problem.

Down the deck, his crew seemed to be holding their own against the long-dead victims of the Isla de la Muerta Passage, but it wouldn't last much longer if the _Pearl_ couldn't get rid of the white sword and get herself out of range of the other ships. "Get those bloody dogs overboard!" he bellowed.

Swords flashed in the sunlight, and the sounds of shouting and blows were his only answer—the crew were too occupied to pay him much mind at the moment.

"Sloppy discipline, Jack, sloppy discipline!"

A familiar voice behind startled Jack for only a few moments. Well. He really should have expected this, along with the point of a sword against his back. He turned slowly around, allowing the voice's owner to transfer the sword tip from his back to his chest, directly over the heart. "What can I say, Copperhead, old boy! You always did run a tighter ship than me. Too bad it wasn't tight enough to manage the Isla de la Muerta Passage, eh?"

"And now I've a second chance at it, eh, mate?" Old Copperhead looked just as Jack remembered him. He too had a taste for big hats, and under it, his hair and beard were a coppery red, hence his popular nickname. _"Redbeard was taken_," his crew liked to say, but it wasn't as if "Copperhead" didn't suit the old water snake. He was—or he had been—older than Barbossa, but he was as cunning and sharp as he'd been in the heyday of Henry Morgan—before Morgan had gone legitimate.

Over the smirking Copperhead's shoulder, Jack could see Will watching them. The boy knew at once who Jack's assailant was, and Jack saw him slip away. _Good lad. We've got to get him back to the _Bloodstone_ along with his sword_.

Will ducked through the struggling bodies to the side nearest the _Bloodstone_ and jumped overboard. Jack grimaced to himself; "Atticus" would throw a fit if the boy took a hurt while under Jack's charge. Still, Jack at the moment was staring down a rather sadistic dead pirate's sword while his ship was being boarded, so they didn't have many options left.

_Just don't do anything stupid, lad!_

* * *

Nobody even saw Will strike the water because so many other people were being tossed overboard. With the _Bloodstone _in pursuit, it was easy enough to snag a long line dangling from the side and shimmy up.

The pirate that had just cornered Jack had to be Copperhead; Will had sensed it immediately. If he could just get aboard and flag the treacherous man down, he'd probably drop everything to return to his precious white sword. What would happen once sword and owner were back aboard the _Bloodstone,_ Will wasn't precisely certain, but he could only hope he would have time to leap for safety before the sea reclaimed her own.

From the sounds above him on deck as he climbed up, only the crew needed to steer the big ship remained aboard, while the rest were now concentrating on harrying the _Black Pearl._ With the white sword hanging from his hip—for the last time, Will thought with a pang—he scrambled up the side. If he could just reach the quarter deck unseen for enough time to get Copperhead's attention, he could evade the pirates for as long as it took the _Bloodstone's_ captain to return. Of course, contending with Barbossa would be the most difficult. How _had_ that pirate managed to wind up here? Had Hamilton's theft of the sword wakened him as well, back in the cache cave? Will could only wonder.

There was one slight complication to attempting to negotiate the side of this ship when boarding her—she'd been at the bottom of the Caribbean for twelve years! The wood was well-rotted, covered with slime and barnacles, and chunks of it kept breaking off in Will's hands as he struggled toward the deck. Gritting his teeth, he hauled his way up, finally reaching the deck, and grabbed the nose of an unused cannon to swing himself up onto the deck.

Peeking over a stinking, rotten barrel, he saw that they were closing in on the _Pearl._ He had to hurry. Will kept a wary eye on the main deck and crept across toward the side where he'd be best-exposed to Copperhead—while still in a good position to scramble for his life when the sailors aboard the _Bloodstone_ discovered their still-living stowaway.

His knee crunched through the mushy wood at one point, and he spat a curse, unfastening the sword with one hand while pulling himself free with the other. Just a few more feet, then he just had to jump up and shout to the pirate who was still threatening Jack—

"Oy! What 'ave we here?"

Will rolled frantically over to see two grinning dead pirates, and slashed the sword at them. "I recognize that pretty thing, boy! Don' think it belongs t'you!"

Backing up toward the deck rail, Will said, "Then allow me to restore it to your captain so you can be on your way."

There was a loud _thud_ directly behind him. Will spun around to find himself face-to-face with, as his luck would have it, Barbossa. "Well, well," he said, smirking as he tossed aside the line he'd swung from. "Mr. Turner, no less! Welcome aboard my ship—again!"

Will had no time to even think of a response before a terrific blow to the back of his head sent him dropping into blackness.

* * *

"Jack!" Elizabeth cried, seeing the pirate menacing the captain, and rushed back toward the helm.

Copperhead stepped to one side, though he kept his sword at Jack's chest. "No closer if you please, missy! My, my, Jack, got yerself some pretty crewmen!" To Elizabeth, he called, "Yer Captain Jack's got something of mine, love! Be a nice lass and hand it over, and I'll think about sparin' his life!"

Elizabeth looked frantically around. "Will!" Where was he? They needed that sword, where had he gone?! He couldn't be…

"Ahoy there, _Black Pearl!_"

A shout from Barbossa brought the fighting to a halt, as by now the dead pirates had seen their captain aboard the _Pearl_ and Barbossa apparently commanding the _Bloodstone._ Copperhead grinned over at Barbossa. "Ahoy there, mate! Look at the bird I've caught meself!"

"A nice catch, I grant you! Why don't you keep him!"

"I reckon I might do that!" Copperhead laughed, pointing a pistol at Jack's head for good measure. "Any luck finding my sword?"

"Aye, Captain, I've found you better than that!" Barbossa gave a wave of his hand, and three dead pirates hauled a bound man into view upon the _Bloodstone's_ deck.

Elizabeth lunged to the side of the _Pearl._ "Will!"

The _Bloodstone_ had stopped its pursuit and came no closer, but Elizabeth could see Will's face, particularly the blood on his temple, and the furious expression at being held captive by Barbossa of all people yet again. Copperhead's laugh caused her to glance up at the helm. "And who's that lad? Looks a bit familiar!" He suddenly grinned down the deck right at Elizabeth. "Must be an interest to the lady—God knows she wouldn't be aboard this ship for the likes of you, Jack!" He jabbed Jack with the pistol, then said, "I think perhaps an exchange, mate? The boy for my sword? Where've you stashed it."

Barbossa's laugh brought their gazes back to the _Bloodstone._ "No need for bargains, Captain! See what the lad brought over with him?" He held the white sword aloft, letting the sunlight flash across its pearl length.

"Ah!" Copperhead grinned broadly. "Much obliged to you, son, for bringing my treasure back! Well, Barbossa, shall I bring our mate Jack back with me to reminisce 'bout the olden days?"

Barbossa's sly smile brought Elizabeth's guard up, and should have brought up Copperhead's seeing as how it was directed at him. But then a voice from near Elizabeth shouted, "Let the boy go!"

The look on the old mutineer's face was one of total disbelief, followed very swiftly by absolute loathing. Handing the sword to one of the other pirates, he leaned forward on the _Bloodstone's_ deck as though desiring to reach across the span of sea between them and take Atticus Willem's neck in his hands.

The surrounding ships were so deathly quiet that his hissing growl was heard clearly even over the distance. It was the growl of a name as though it were a curse—which, to Barbossa, it was: "Bootstrap!"

"What?!" Elizabeth exclaimed, along with several of the rest of the crew.

Aboard the _Bloodstone,_ Will's jaw dropped, and he seemed to forget his own situation in enemy hands as his wide, astonished eyes bridged the distance between himself and the man standing on the _Black Pearl's_ deck, looking back at him. His lips moved, and they all knew what he whispered. "_Bootstrap?"_

Above them, they heard Jack mutter, "You should've told him when you had the chance, mate."

The man Elizabeth now realized was none other than Bootstrap Bill Turner stood coldly at the deck rail. He ignored everyone else, glancing only briefly at Will himself before saying to Barbossa, "I know you still want your revenge, Barbossa. Let the boy go, and you can have me. I'll come over along with your captain."

Barbossa looked more incensed than Elizabeth had ever seen him. Had he indeed been a thing of hell, his stare would have set the elder William Turner ablaze. Then a slow smirk spread across his face, making a chill run down Elizabeth's spine despite the late spring sun. "That's a handsome offer, but you've made a slight error! _I'm_ captain of this ship!"

Copperhead Wellings lost his smile, and all interest in Jack. "Barbossa, what the hell are you—"

With a shove that sent Will sprawling onto the _Bloodstone's _deck, Barbossa grabbed the rotting deck rail. "I know how this old curse works, Bootstrap! Once the white sword and her owner are back together aboard this ship, the sea will drag us all back to the deep! You, Jack, and your brat took my chance for life away once, and I don't mean to lose it again. Sorry, Copperhead, old friend, but I'm afraid I'll have to make off with your ship! See?" Laughing, he held up a chain around his neck, and sunlight now glinted off the cursed Aztec medallion. "Back to Isla de la Muerta she goes, and I'll finally be free of _both_ curses! Hoist anchor!" he roared at the other sailors. "Loose the topsails! Ahead full speed!"

"Barbossa, you traitorous dog!" Copperhead roared, dropping both pistol and sword and leaping across the deck in fury.

"Here!" Jack shouted, and threw the dead pirate a long line. Copperhead swung out toward the _Bloodstone_, but the ship was already moving away. "Hoist anchor, you lot!" he shouted at the crew. "After her!"

With a enraged shout, Copperhead struck the water and began swimming furiously after his ship. "That's my ship! You filthy bastard! That's my ship!"

"I know how the poor bloke feels," sighed Jack, putting Gibbs on the wheel.

"What about Will?" Elizabeth cried.

"Don't worry, we'll catch her. Sea may be on her side, but _Bloodstone's_ in poor shape. Wind'll bear us after her," said Jack. He patted Bootstrap on the shoulder. "We'll get him back, mate."

"Look!" Anamaria pointed back at the other ship.

Barbossa was dragging Will back into their view, grinning straight at the young man's father. "Will," whispered Bootstrap. "My God…" Elizabeth knew what the poor man was thinking: his son was going to be made to pay for Barbossa's grievance.

"You're right about that revenge, Bootstrap!" Barbossa roared back at them as the ship sailed on, and Copperhead swam after them. "And I can't think of a more perfect way to get it!"

"Your quarrel's with me, Barbossa!" Turner shouted frantically, but muttered under his breath, "Sweet Jesus!"

Elizabeth no longer looked anywhere but Will's face. Something had changed—he now looked terrified. His face was pallid, and his gaze flicked back and forth from her to his father. His lips were moving fast—was he praying. Elizabeth's heart was hammered furiously against her chest; what was Barbossa planning to do to him? She didn't know…

Will's father did. He knew all too well. Barbossa and the other pirates dragged Will to the side, their intention obviously to put him overboard. It wasn't until Elizabeth saw the small-but-heavy deck gun chained to Will's feet that she put it all together. _"Oh my God!"_ she screamed, nearly jumping overboard herself but for Jack grabbing her arms. _"No! Will, please, no!"_

He'd drown. There would be no saving him. It was taking two pirates just to lug the gun along with their victim to the edge. Will's terrified gaze was now fixed on his father, as though pleading for the man who had passed who-knew-how-many years below the sea before escaping could somehow free him now. Barbossa grinned as they got their captive to the edge of the ship. "A poetic finish, you must agree, Bootstrap! Don't fret—his torment'll be a lot shorter than yours, eh? No curse to keep this one breathing underwater! Sorry, Father Turner, no time for fond farewells! Look your last upon your son!"

Will could only gasp, and Elizabeth could only scream as Barbossa shoved him, at the same time as the pirates released the gun, flinging both over the side of the _Bloodstone_. The splash of the gun upon the water was huge, and Will was pulled down with it, vanishing without even a chance to struggle. All Elizabeth could do was scream and struggle vainly against Jack, who was contending both with her and Will's equally-distraught father.

"Stop it, both of you!" Jack sent Elizabeth careening into two crewmen's arms and concentrating on holding Bootstrap back. "Can't do anything for him this way! Lower the anchor! Yeah, you heard me, lower the bloody, sodding anchor!"

The crew did as they were ordered. The anchor plunged down, but Anamaria said, "Jack, the lad'll never manage to get to the anchor in time, even if the gun's made light by the water."

"I know that, love, I know!" Jack grunted, glaring over the side. "OY! COPPERHEAD!" The _Bloodstone's _captain was still swimming after his ship, but though he didn't tire as a living man would have done, he simply couldn't catch her. Spitting furiously, the pirate turned in the water. "CARE FOR A LIFT?! WE'LL GLADLY CHASE 'ER DOWN FOR YOU!"

"IN EXCHANGE FOR WHAT?!" Copperhead shouted back.

"GIVE THAT BOY DOWN THERE A HAND OVER TO THE ANCHOR AND WE'LL HOIST YOU UP!"

"There's not much time!" Elizabeth whispered.

"WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU?!"

Jack snorted. "BECAUSE, MATE, UNLIKE BARBOSSA, I'VE NEVER BROKEN MY WORD, REMEMBER?! AND I DON'T WANT THE OLD BASTARD LOOSE ON THE SEAS AGAIN! GET THE BOY BACK FOR US AND WE'LL GET YOUR SHIP BACK!"

The seconds seemed to last an eternity as the two pirate captains locked gazes, one treading water, the other on the deck of his own ship. At last, Copperhead scowled at Jack, then dove beneath the surface. Elizabeth stifled a sob.

* * *

Yes, Copperhead Wellings supposed as he swam toward the sea bottom, Jack Sparrow was a man of his word. In the past, he and Barbossa had always used that knowledge as something to be exploited—a weakness. But, he had to admit, it had its advantages. Good bargaining tool, oddly enough.

The sea here was still relatively shallow; they weren't all that far from the reefs surrounding Isla de la Muerta. He didn't have to look far to find the figure struggling futilely against the chains holding his feet to a deck gun. Boy was keeping his wits—obviously could hold his breath for a good spell—but he'd start panicking pretty quick once his strength started to wane. Copperhead paddled toward him, gauging the distance between the gun and the anchor.

The lad was already beginning to claw at the water helplessly, but when he looked back at feeling the gun move, he panicked at the sight of Copperhead. With an irritated gurgle, Copperhead pointed at the anchor, and the boy's sense returned—for what time he had left. Turner's son swam frantically toward the _Black Pearl's _anchor as Copperhead lumbered awkwardly behind—he could move the gun, but it was still dashed heavy!

Young Turner wrapped his body around the anchor as best he could, tugging vainly at the chain holding his boots to the gun. Barbossa always had a wicked sense of humor. Getting the gun to the anchor was difficult enough, with the boy jolting at the chain as his lack of air grew increasingly desperate, but keeping it on the anchor so it wouldn't fall and drag the boy down again was still another chore.

Grunting in a fashion that sent bubbles churning up and obscuring his view, Copperhead wrestled the gun into position. He had to set it so that it straddled across the two curves of the anchor—a difficult task even for a pirate who felt neither pain nor strange. Damned heavy thing!

At last, he got it into position where he felt it wouldn't go sliding off halfway to the surface, and reached up to tug the chain, only to find that the boy was drifting, limp and still, his arms floating loose in the current. Now _he'd_ go sliding off at a moment's movement! Copperhead grabbed him irritably, hoping he wasn't already dead, and jerked vigorously on the anchor chain, signaling the _Pearl's_ crew to hoist them up.

* * *

"That's it! Heave! Heave!" Adding their efforts to the crank, the crew hauled the chain up hand over hand, and Elizabeth and the elder Mr. Turner hovered over the deck rail, reduced to waiting.

Elizabeth had never imagined that a ship's anchor chain could be so long.

At last… "There!" Two figures burst from the water, wrapped around the anchor itself, with a deck gun draped across the bottom of the anchor. "Grab that thing!"

Two of the crew caught the gun to keep it from slipping, and Elizabeth saw a red-haired man growling curses at them, then her heart leapt to her throat at the sight of the other figure, hanging limply in Copperhead Wellings' grasp. "Will!"

"Take him!" shouted Copperhead.

The crew maneuvered the unconscious young man onto the deck, shoving the gun up after him because it was still chained to his boots. Elizabeth was nearly knocked off her feet by Bootstrap's passage; he leapt past her and fell to Will's side. "Not breathing!" said Anamaria.

"Move!" Bootstrap ordered and lifted Will's head. "Don't you die on me now, boy," he muttered. Propping Will up, he made Elizabeth yelp by jabbing the young man in the stomach, right below the ribs, once, twice, three times, then harder, until Will's eyes flew open, and he doubled over, coughing up lungfulls of water.

The violent fit of coughing that followed lasted several minutes, and only when it passed could Will wipe his hair from his eyes and take stock of his surroundings. Blinking dazedly for a moment at Elizabeth, he looked up to suddenly realize whose chest he was cradled in a sitting position against. His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Father?"

Elizabeth now could not believe she had not instantly noticed the resemblance between Will and "Atticus Willem." For one thing, their eyes were very alike, and now the look in the elder Turner's eyes as he gazed into Will's face brought tears to her own. She saw awe there, and wondered if Will was what his father had expected, but also relief, anxiety, and, to her surprise, remorse. "Aye, lad," he said in a gruff voice that hid all his eyes had revealed. "Thought I'd lost you."

But nearly drowning in the Caribbean not moments before had robbed Will of his strength to have the interview that must now take place, and his eyes were already losing focus. Not that that stopped him from trying. "Why…didn'…tell me?" he mumbled, his head beginning to loll back.

William Turner cleared his throat. "It didn't seem the proper time. But don't worry about that now, lad, I'm here and so are you. Rest now; you need your strength back." Elizabeth didn't think Will could have argued if he'd wished to, for he almost instantly went limp in his father's arms.

In the heavy silence that followed, only then did Elizabeth realize from the creaking of the rigging and the sound of wind and waves that they were under way again, chasing the _Bloodstone_. Jack was at the wheel, watching them with an inscrutable look on his face, Copperhead at his side. Then Anamaria and Bolls got to work with knives carefully hacking away at the leather of Will's boots, until they could be freed from his feet. "See if you can get that gun mounted and working," said Jack. "We may need it. William, get your lad below."

William Turner looked up at the helm and slowly smiled. He saluted, "Aye-aye, Captain Sparrow!" then swept Will into his arms and carried him below decks.

Jack grinned rakishly at Elizabeth. "To the rigging with you, love!" Elizabeth's insides were still churning from the nearness of losing Will—and the knowledge of the near-stranger currently caring for him below—but Jack was right. She didn't need to be down there just now. She obeyed Jack's order with a curt nod and concentrated on dealing with the sails, but her mind kept drifting below decks. _William Bootstrap Turner, after all he's been through…don't you dare hurt him!_

* * *

Jack turned to their newest passenger. "Welcome aboard, Copperhead, old mate!" The other pirate glared sourly at him, still staring out at the sea where Barbossa had taken his ship. "Care to tell me how this odd little turn of events came about?"

With a disgusted growl, Copperhead stalked up to the helm. "Sure you know the first part. Some filthy bugger pinched my sword, and we on the _Bloodstone_ found ourselves awake again. Knew we had to get it back. We searched for weeks, to no avail, then one day we felt something stirring back at the Passage." He pulled a face. "Odd, this undead thing. Makes you know things beyond the living world."

"I'll take your word for it," replied Jack. "And what happened back at Isla de la Muerta?"

Copperhead glared at the horizon. "All our old brethren lost there had risen. Every last man, every last ship. And, as it turned out, old Barbossa. He flagged us down from a bluff, and fool that I am, I brought him aboard. He showed me the Aztec gold and told me of the curse, warned me not to touch it. How was I to know he'd already cursed himself again?"

"To keep himself alive in case your curse was lifted," mused Jack, nodding in comprehension. "So…he wormed his old way into your favor and got himself a passage on the _Bloodstone?_" Copperhead nodded. "And his plan was to get you off the _Bloodstone_ so he could steal both her and the white sword. Probably means to have her repaired, then he's the new captain, sailing the seas on the only ship ever considered a potential match for the _Black Pearl._ Clever, old Barbossa, even by your usual standards," Jack smiled to himself. Then he turned to Copperhead. "And what are your intentions, old friend?"

Copperhead looked at him as though he were daft. "I _want_ my ruddy _ship_ back, you bleeding idiot!"

"And your sword?"

"That too!"

"And your life?" Jack grinned slightly as Copperhead blinked. "No wish to return from the dead like old Barbossa?"

Copperhead shrugged. "Odd, this vengeful spirit thing. Perhaps it's dulled me interest, but no, not much seems to matter except getting back what's mine."

"Hmm." Jack eyed him, but kept his personal impressions to himself. He glanced behind the _Black Pearl_ and was startled to see a flotilla of sails giving chase. Most were ragged, slogging on through the water as Copperhead's followers fought to keep up with the _Pearl_, but at least one was full and white. The _Dauntless._

_This is going to be a very interesting trip!_

* * *

_Below decks, a little while later…_

Will's chest hurt. So did his throat. So did his arms and his head…_Dear God, did I get drunk last night?_ He forced his eyes open, but the increase in light did not seem to worsen his apparent hangover.

"Welcome back, lad."

He blinked at the graying man leaning against the wall near his berth—then it all came back. _Atticus__…Bootstrap…Bill…Turner…_

_Father._

The pain in his chest and head increased with a burst of adrenaline and nausea as he remembered what had happened. Att—his fa—William Turner seemed to be waiting for Will to get his scattered thoughts together. His dark eyes, so like Will's own—_how the devil did I not notice that?!—_narrowed in a puzzled frown in response to the way Will stiffened.

Obviously the elder Turner was interpreting his son's reaction as hostility—and he wasn't entirely wrong. "What is it?" he asked Will quietly.

_I make a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates._ Will watched the older man warily, trying to reconcile him with very vague, blurry memories of childhood. His emotions were spinning around wildly in his chest, making him still more nauseated until he feared he'd be sick, despite his good sea legs. It made his voice reveal a harshness he couldn't seem to help feeling and couldn't begin to explain. "I don't know what you mean, sir."

William—or was it Bootstrap?—tilted his head slightly, as Will himself often did when he was perplexed. "You look troubled."

"Have I no reason to be troubled?" His chest was painfully tight. He wished it would stop, it was making it hard to talk.

His…father's…face softened. It made Will's chest tighter, and he wanted to look away. "I see," he said, very quietly.

Will couldn't stand this. Too much had happened today. Seeing Jack again, finding Elizabeth—_Elizabeth!_—here, driven to Tortuga by his foolishness, nearly getting drowned by Barbossa of all people—it was too much. He wanted back out on deck, to feel the wind, and let the scent of the sea drive the cotton out of his mind. He needed to clear his head…

Will hastily jumped out of the berth, but made the mistake of landing on the same side that his father was standing on. The cabin was narrow, and now they were much too close together. "I want to go on deck," he croaked.

Taking a step toward him, raising a conciliatory hand, his father said, "Son…"

Will wrenched away. "_Don't call me that! What right do you have to call me that?!_" he hissed, his voice savage with emotion.

There could be no doubt where Will Turner got his rash, stubborn streak, for his father refused to give way and allow Will to escape. "Forgive me, Will."

"Why should I?" he spat. Of all the emotions churning within him, he chose anger as preferable to the others. Far preferable than some. "All that time…I spent so long…wondering…why should…"

"I couldn't return home after the curse, Will, do use your good sense!" Bootstrap exclaimed, shifting sideways in case his son tried to slip past him.

"And you know bloody well I'm not referring to that! I could forgive you for those ten years, but after…I assumed you…were dead…" Curse that bloody seawater, it was making his throat too tight to talk!

Something intense flashed in Bootstrap's eyes, and he moved again to block Will's path. "I will explain it to you if you care to listen," he said. Will turned his face toward the cabin wall, but made no further attempts to reach the door. William Turner went on, "I escaped the sea and set out at once for home, to warn you and your mother that the crew of the _Black Pearl _would be searching for the medallion. My intention was to take it and disappear, to live my cursed immortality out somewhere that those treacherous dogs could never find me."

"And what of Mother and me?" Will demanded. "What would have happened to us then?"

"The name of Turner was a danger to you as long as the curse went on; the two of you would have had to leave home and start anew," his father said urgently. Will sighed and closed his eyes, bitterly aware of what the name of Turner had already cost everyone he loved.

"So what happened?" he muttered.

"The curse lifted, of course. I…" his father's suddenly-ragged voice made Will turn around. "What could I assume except that they had found you, and that you…"

Taking slow, deep breaths in a vain attempt to loosen his chest, Will whispered, "You thought I was dead."

Bootstrap nodded. He was silent for several moment, eyes closed, before he continued. "I arrived back in England, hoping to find some trace of your mother, but she was gone as well. There was no one, nothing in England left for me. That's when I returned to the Caribbean, to Tortuga, eventually to get my hands on a ship and hear the tale of Jack Sparrow's return to his own, the _Pearl._"

"Why didn't you find him? We all thought you dead," Will asked faintly. "Jack…you were his friend."

"I wasn't ready to see Jack, knowing he'd been at Isla de la Muerta when…the curse was lifted. I wasn't ready to know. I didn't have an inkling until I saw you in the sick berth of the _Laurel._" Bootstrap smiled weakly. "Recognized you at once, lad. You look like your mother."

Will had to look away then. "Why didn't you tell me then?"

His father shrugged. "Cowardice. I could see you were uneasy among pirates. What was I to think except that you would be ashamed of your father's lot in life?"

Something very hot seemed to erupt in Will's insides. _"Cowardice?!_" he hissed, rounding on Bootstrap as his vision blurred dangerously. "I thought…you bloody…._I _lifted the curse!" His entire body was shaking, and his father blanched as the meaning of the words sunk in. "Don't you see?! I thought…I used my blood, even though I knew—had every reason to think you were still—_I thought I killed you!"_

He didn't dare shout (the crew would hear) but the words ground out in a voice rough with anger and pain. It hurt, physically, it hurt. Will wanted it to stop hurting, he wanted his father to stop looking at him with those soft eyes like a ghost from his childhood, he wanted to get out of that claustrophobic little cabin, he wanted Elizabeth, he wanted…

Somehow, Bootstrap had closed the small space between them without Will realizing it, and he was so busy concentrating on trying not to tremble that he didn't even see his father move until a gentle, calloused hand cupped his face. "My lad," whispered William Turner. "I thought _I _had killed _you._"

The clanging of the deck bell made them both leave their feet. "All hands on deck! _Bloodstone's_ sail's been sighted, we're comin' up on 'er! All hands on deck!"

Will blinked, staring at his father in dismay. Bootstrap grimaced, echoing his son's sentiment. Then they turned helplessly and headed out the cabin doorway to join their crewmates on the _Black Pearl's _deck.

**_To be continued…_******

**_Next time:_**_ Yet another dead versus undead clash in the lagoon of Isla de la Muerta! Dead men do tell tales, all cards are shown at last (well, most of them), we finally learn what side everyone is on (well, almost everyone), and a few nasty characters get their just desserts! Oh, and Norrington lovers, fear not, he's back with a vengeance next chapter!_

**PLEASE don't forget to review!**


	10. Chapter Nine: Dead Men Do Tell Tales

**_A/N:_** _My dearest readers, how may I beg your forgiveness for the utterly intolerable wait I have put you through, and how may I express my gratitude for your patience? I am so deeply sorry to have failed to update for so long, and I promise you the next update shall arrive within the month. We are nearing the end of this tale, and I have been a terribly irresponsible fanwriter to make my readers wait like this. Many thanks to all of you who have reminded me over the past year with reviews and emails. Your wait is over at last. I have tried hard with this chapter to make it worth the wait._

**Chapter Nine: Dead Men Do Tell Tales**

"Ready the guns, you feckless frogs!" Jack roared. "Run up the sweeps!"

"The what?" Elizabeth yelled over the din of the crew.

"The _sweeps_, girl!" Anamaria pointed past Elizabeth's shoulder, and she turned around to see Bootstrap and Will carrying something black up to the topsail lines. As she watched, they unfurled it, running it up to fly over the _Pearl's_ black sails.

The pirate standard.

Will was actually grinning up at it, until he turned, saw Elizabeth watching, and blushed. She bit her lip hard. Somehow it just didn't seem proper to giggle while they were sailing into certain peril.

"Oy! Get to work, lass!" Jack shouted, and she jumped, then nipped along smartly.

Will appeared alongside her with a bucket of cannonballs. "We have to get Copperhead and the sword back to the _Bloodstone _before the rest of them catch us!"

"Barbossa's got the sword! He'll stash it somewhere on the island. So long as the sword stays off the ship, the _Bloodstone's_ his," said Gibbs. Copperhead let out a growl of denial.

"Put your backs in it!" Jack roared. "We're almost in range!"

"Starboard guns ready!" Bootstrap and Will shoved one cannon into position, Anamaria and Elizabeth the next.

"Ready the big grapple on the bow! We'll haul 'er back before she gets aground!"

"Aye-aye, Cap'n!" Gibbs and Cotton joined Copperhead in positioning a large grappling hook, nearly three times the size of the little hooks they used to board ships, upon the _Black Pearl's_ nose. At the end of the grapple's extra-long coil of heavy rope was an anchor.

Will glanced sideways at them. "Can we lock her down with that grapple?"

"If we get it into her hull," said Bootstrap, keeping his eye on the _Bloodstone._ "In her rigging, hook'll just rip it down. There!" He adjusted their gun slightly. "She's in range!"

Will could see the rest of the _Bloodstone's_ long-dead crew toiling away, and Barbossa by the helm, seeming to reign over it all. What was it the dockworkers had used to say? _A man so evil, hell itself spat him back out…_ He looked at the helm of the _Pearl_, with Jack at the wheel, and at his father beside him.

_To think that I once presumed that pirates are all alike._

"FIRE!"

Anamaria and Elizabeth's gun blasted a handful of men clean off the deck of the _Bloodstone_—and a healthy portion of deck along with them. A second later, Will and Bootstrap's cannon struck off one of the ship's masts.

"STOP BLOWING HOLES IN MY SHIP!" Copperhead yelled.

"Can't be helped, old man!"

"She's coming 'round broadside!" Anamaria warned, pointing as the buffeted ship lurched under the impact of the _Black Pearl's _guns.

"Ready with that grapple!" Jack shouted. "See if you can't catch 'er in the gun port! Fire as you bear!"

Bootstrap reloaded the gun, and Will fired it off again. Barbossa was bellowing at the _Bloodstone's_ crew, trying to get them to fire back, but the sunken ship's guns were useless. One of the _Pearl's _old mutineer crewmen was at the wheel, trying to get the _Bloodstone_ out of range of the _Pearl's_ guns. "If we don't turn off soon, we'll ram her!" Gibbs cried.

"Going hard a port!" Jack shouted, and spun the wheel.

The _Black Pearl's_ nose seemed about to slam directly into the side of the lumbering _Bloodstone_, and Will heard Elizabeth hiss and Anamaria cursing in alarm, but at the last second, the _Pearl_ turned, sliding along the other vessel's side.

"NOW!" Jack roared.

Gibbs, Cotton, and Copperhead hurled the grapple into one of the _Bloodstone's _gun ports as they passed. "Watch it!" The throw was true, and although wood splintered and flew from the opening, the bulkhead held. "Toss the anchor!" Gibbs ordered. "Copper'ead, get outta the way!"

The _Bloodstone's _captain had been leaning over the rail, watching the wanton destruction of his ship, obviously of a mind to get back aboard her and settle the score with Barbossa. But the rope attached to the grapple was uncoiling fast. Cotton nearly went over the side—and Copperhead did. "DAMMIT!" Gibbs tried to catch him, but the other captain was overboard. "Jack!"

"Keep on 'er!"

Will looked over his shoulder as he and Bootstrap carried grapple lines over to board the _Bloodstone._ "We've got company!"

The rest of the ghostly fleet of Isla de la Muerta was nearly upon them. "Hurry it up, then! Don't let Barbossa off that ship!"

"I can't see him!" Elizabeth called.

The dead sailors of the _Bloodstone_ and a few of the mutinous crew of the _Black Pearl_ (those who had died two years prior in the battle between Jack and Barbossa) roared their challenges as the grapple lines flew through the air to snag in the rigging. "Take care of yourself, Will," Bootstrap said suddenly, with a hand on his son's shoulder, before swinging across onto the _Bloodstone's _deck. Will had no time to answer, but quickly followed.

* * *

Jack watched his crew stampeding aboard the _Bloodstone_ in search of Barbossa and the white sword, but stayed at the helm of the _Black Pearl_. Will's bonny lass and Anamaria were behind as well, armed with guns and picking off ghostly sailors who tried to board them. "Steady as she goes, girls!"

He heard the ring of steel on a scabbard behind him, and whirled around to end up blade-to-blade with none other than Barbossa. "'Ello, old friend!" he said cheerfully, as though he'd been expecting to see the other captain here for some time—which made since, because he had. "You're a bit late!"

Smirking, the white sword in hand, Barbossa replied, "Afraid the _Bloodstone's_ old crew're moving a bit slowly, being dead as long as they've been."

Circling his opponent with a casual air, Jack said, "Seems dreadful poor manners of you to press 'em into your service. Men dead at the sea's hand deserve their rest."

"Aye, but wasn't me that woke them, and won't be me that's paying the price this time! On the contrary," Barbossa advanced a few steps, and Jack retreated a few, still confident. "I've done 'em a favor, giving 'em a second chance to rule the seas!"

"And you know favors among pirates!" Jack whirled to one side to avoid a slashing blow from another sword—held in the hand of Copperhead Wellings. "Code demands that they be repaid!"

"So you two _are_ working together," Jack said smoothly. "That's interesting." Not really a surprise, but interesting.

"And it'll make your position bloody well interesting," Copperhead added, as he and Barbossa pressed Jack back toward the helm's rail, overlooking the rest of the deck. "As any swordsman facing off against two opponents."

"Any other swordsman, true, would be a bit intimidated by this sort of thing," Jack remarked. "But you're forgetting one thing about _your_ opponents, lads." He grinned rakishly and bowed, still keeping his sword level. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!"

Just then, a gun blast sent Copperhead's hat flying off into the water. "OY!" he glanced back in outrage, then spotted Elizabeth and Anamaria on the deck, having spotted the intruders by now.

Jack seized his chance, tossed his sword over his shoulder and grabbed the helm deck rail, flipping over it backwards to land on his feet on the main deck and snatch his sword back up. "Were you lads under the impression I was somehow vulnerable?" Elizabeth and Anamaria rushed to flank him, having obtained swords of their own, but he motioned them back. "No interference, loves! Their score's with me!"

The girls looked dubiously at him, then slowly backed off. Then someone swung back aboard the _Pearl_ from one of the ropes, and Bootstrap Bill Turner was at Jack's side. "I've got a score of my own," Bill said.

Jack tipped his hat as the outraged Barbossa and Copperhead came down the deck stairs. "Shall we?"

Will saw them from the deck of the _Bloodstone_ where he, Gibbs, and Cotton were attempting to keep Copperhead and Barbossa's ghostly compatriots from swarming over to the _Pearl._ His father and Jack led Barbossa and Copperhead in parallel paths up and down the _Pearl_'s deck, moving with the same synchronized adeptness that Will had found himself when fighting alongside Jack. They, as apparently his father before him, had been instinctive partners in battle.

The _Pearl's_ guns, manned impressively well by Elizabeth and Anamaria, were blasting in the opposite direction in a desperate effort to hold off the approaching undead fleet. Through the smoky air, Will wondered how long it would be before the living sailors in this fracas were overwhelmed once the rest of Copperhead's followers caught up with them. He hoped the _Dauntless_ was faring better; he could still see its full white sails in front of the rest, but if the navy's ship had been taken…well, even Jack might have trouble getting out of this one.

"We're going to have a serious problem in a few minutes," he muttered.

"What say ye, lad?" Gibbs shouted, charging down the deck with a pistol in each hand.

Will pointed at the approaching fleet. "We're about to have a great deal of company."

"Aye-aye, looks to get exciting!"

Scrambling to leave a group of undead sailors in a suitable number of pieces so as not to be troublesome, Will pulled a face. "Exciting?" he asked doubtfully.

"Ain't ye learned nothin' from all this time with Jack, kid?" Gibbs demanded. "The odds're always against ye when yer a pirate! Trick is to enjoy yerself no matter how stiff the competition!"

* * *

"I'm impressed, Bill," Barbossa told Bootstrap. "All that time underwater hasn't slowed your fighting a bit!"

"Don't tell me!" Jack said, dodging a slash from Copperhead and sweeping in to parry a stroke from Barbossa. "You practice three hours a day!"

"Oy?" Bootstrap shot Jack a confused look as he replaced his captain to battle Copperhead.

"Like father, like son, mate," Jack said.

Barbossa snarled, "Aye, that's for certain. Your whelp's just like you—sanctimonious little popinjay."

"There's a lot of big words in there, we're not but humble pirates!" came a voice from behind them. Bootstrap dodged away from his opponent to give a quick grin at Elizabeth, and Jack laughed out loud.

"The bonny lass learns fast!"

Copperhead lunged at Jack, and they switched opponents once again. "Don'tcha know it's frightful bad luck to have a woman aboard, Jack?"

"_A_ woman, aye. But I got meself two!"

"You've always got a way around those things, don't you?" Bootstrap laughed.

"'Course I do!" Jack swung at Copperhead's neck and got a tuft of red beard for his trouble. "Because," and Bootstrap chorused with him:

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow—yeh, yeh, I know, I've heard that before!"

Copperhead growled and pressed forward along with Barbossa. "Captain Jack Sparrow's legend's got naught to do with anything but luck and daft loyalists. We lot always beat you in a fair fight!"

There was a _whump_ on the deck as another pair of feet landed next to Jack. "That's not much incentive for him to fight fair, then, is it?" Will gave them a rakish grin before taking off to join Elizabeth and Anamaria on the guns.

"Cap'n holding his own?" Anamaria called.

"He's fine," said Will. "Take care you don't hit the _Dauntless_."

"You think they'll actually side with us?" she asked doubtfully, reloading the nearest gun.

"Against that?" Elizabeth took aim at one of the approaching dead ships. "Somehow I think we'll be deemed the lesser of two evils. The devil you know and all that."

"Hope you're right, love. Fire at the waterline of that pinnace to starboard on my mark!"

"Ready!" Elizabeth waved vigorously at the _Dauntless_, hoping they were close enough so Commodore Norrington would see her and realize the _Pearl_ wasn't attacking them.

"Fire!"

The other vessel's nose was practically blown off, but the bloody thing kept on coming. Fortunately, it appeared to have been slowed down a bit. "_Dauntless's_ gun ports are open," Will muttered.

"Do you think they see us?" Elizabeth asked nervously.

"We'll find out as soon as they fire on us," Anamaria replied.

There was a bang behind them as someone came charging across the gun deck. "Ahoy there, ladies and gents, comin' through! Clear the way!"

It was Jack, leaping his way from cannon to cannon with Copperhead in hot pursuit, with Barbossa and Bootstrap striking and parrying along behind them. Will grabbed Elizabeth and pulled her out of the way, but heard her laugh and found himself grinning. Anamaria returned her attention to the _Dauntless_, completely unconcerned by the antics of her captain as she waved a white flag at them. Will commandeered a pistol that Elizabeth was loading.

"Let me borrow that." He took aim at Barbossa.

"Will!" she exclaimed. "That's cheating!"

"Pirate," he replied. Then he fired and hit exactly where he was aiming—blowing Barbossa's hat right off. "HAH!" Barbossa paused from fighting Bootstrap to snarl at his son, and Elizabeth burst out laughing. Will shrugged and grinned, "I've always wanted to do that."

"We've got company!" Anamaria warned.

Grapple lines snagged the rigging, and Navy sailors began swinging onto the _Pearl's_ deck. "Welcome aboard, lads, step lively!" Jack bellowed, not missing a stroke in his duel with Copperhead. "Plenty of enemies for everyone!"

Commodore Norrington landed a few feet away from Will and Elizabeth. "I rather suspected I'd find you two here together," he said dryly.

"It wasn't planned, I assure you," Elizabeth said.

"Now who exactly are these miscreants?" he demanded, gesturing to the ghostly fleet.

"Dead miscreants demanding the return of the white sword to the ship it sank in," Will replied. "It didn't belong to Hamilton, it belonged to him," he pointed at Copperhead. "Hamilton robbed the wreck of the _Bloodstone_."

Norrington muttered an oath. "And I suppose this mob can't be killed either?"

"Nay, but they'll be back to the depths if we can get their cap'n and his bloody sword back on his ship!" Anamaria yelled.

"Ahh, yes, speaking of which…"

Another pair of feet thumped onto the deck. "Commodore, what the devil are you waiting for? Arrest these malefactors and retrieve my property!"

Will's chest burned with loathing, and by the look on her face, Elizabeth was of a similar mind at seeing one Sir Reginald Hamilton back in their midst, as puffed up as ever. Norrington too narrowed his eyes at the way Hamilton instantly went to Elizabeth's side and seized her elbow—clearly counting her among the "property" he had come to claim.

"I would advise you to return to the _Dauntless_, Sir Reginald," the Commodore said tightly. "This situation is not yet under control, and there is danger here."

"Very well. Come, Miss Swann, let us be off this filthy pest-infested scow," Hamilton sneered, but Elizabeth yanked her arm from his grasp so forcefully that she knocked him off balance.

"Obviously I did not make myself clear back in Port Royal, _sir_. We have nothing to say to each other, and you most certainly have no business leading me anywhere _or_ laying a hand upon me!"

Jack knocked Copperhead down the deck stairs and trotted over to them. "Ah, Commodore, good to see you again. Sir Reggie! Can't say I expected you back so soon, but welcome aboard all the same. Now if you'll excuse me, you're keeping my crew from their duties! Back to work, you lot!" he snapped, and Will, Elizabeth, and Anamaria hastily took the opportunity to escape over Sir Reginald's stammers of outrage.

Norrington was shouting back to the crew of the _Dauntless _to "fire as you bear" upon the other ships, but paused and frowned at the four sword-wielding combatants aboard the _Pearl._ "If Sparrow's opponent there is the owner of the white sword, who are those two?"

"Oh, that's the former Captain Barbossa who mutineed against Jack," said Elizabeth.

"And fighting him there is my father," Will added, with no more than a quirk of his lips. Several strides away, Bootstrap ducked under a wild swing from Barbossa, paused to tip his tricorner hat at Norrington, and returned to the fight. Norrington blinked.

"Interesting family line."

"You have no idea," Elizabeth muttered.

"So who has the white sword?"

"Barbossa," said Will, as Bootstrap kicked the mutinous former first mate below decks and came to join them. "He and Copperhead struck a deal—they've taken the Aztec gold again to keep themselves alive. But they don't want the _Bloodstone_ and all these sinking again until they can get her aground."

"Then we have to get the medallions from them _and_ their blood," Elizabeth groaned.

"Not both," panted Bootstrap, stumping over to them. "Just Barbossa."

"What do you mean? I thought he and Copperhead both had them," said Will.

Bootstrap grinned and shook his head. "Aye, but 'twas Barbossa who took them from the chest—not Copperhead. You think I'd have sent mine to you if I'd thought you'd come under the curse? No, lad, old Barbossa's never shrunk from his backstabbing ways, and he's not like to now. His eyes're not on the _Bloodstone_ as prize."

"The _Pearl_," Elizabeth breathed. "He means to escape and get the _Black Pearl_ back."

"What?" Norrington exclaimed.

Bootstrap nodded. "If he can give us the slip today, he can wait as long as he pleases to lift the curse—and the immortality. Then he can raise a crew in Tortuga and come after Jack and the _Pearl_ at his leisure."

"COMMODORE!" Lieutenant Gillette was shouting from the _Dauntless._ A glance warned them all that both the _Pearl_ and the naval ship were close to being boarded by Copperhead's allies.

"You pirates have more complicated relations than the bloody Navy," Norrington muttered. "I must get back to the _Dauntless;_ we'll keep you clear as long as we can, but do whatever it is you need to do with the sword and Barbossa, otherwise we're all done for."

"Oy, where'd your well-dressed friend get to?" Anamaria demanded.

"Probably back on the _Dauntless_, hiding in the cabin," Elizabeth said derisively, shooting Will a reproachful glance. Will supposed he deserved it, but then Bootstrap looked around them.

"No, I don't think he's gone that way."

His meaning dawned on them, and Elizabeth hissed in horror. "JACK!" Will shouted.

"EH?"

"Think that Hamilton character's still after the sword!" Anamaria yelled.

Jack swore and dodged a strike from Copperhead that nearly took his neck off. "Watch the hair, mate! Better find him, lads, I'm a bit preoccupied!" He parried the next blow hard and snatched something from around Copperhead's neck. "'Ere! This might come in useful!"

Copperhead cursed at him and tried to snatch the medallion back, but Jack hurled it through the air to Bootstrap. But then the other captain laughed. "Still need my blood to take the curse off me!"

"So Barbossa told him," Elizabeth murmured.

"Still, we'd better find him, and Hamilton," Will muttered. Elizabeth glared at him again, and he blushed.

"Let's go," said Bootstrap.

They ran below decks to hear the sounds of more fighting in the hold. Will charged forward only to be struck a savage blow to the face with a sword hilt that sent him crashing to the floor. "_Will!_" Elizabeth screamed, but she and Bootstrap too were knocked aside. All she managed to see was a flash of silver and white metal gleaming in the dim light, and the flutter of silk and lace.

Will was staggering upright with his father's help, clutching the side of his head, and they could hear someone cursing in the darkness. "Was that Hamilton?"

"Yes," said Bootstrap. "And he's got the sword. But first let's deal with Barbossa."

The three of them came upon the former mutineer wrestling his way out of a pile of grain sacks, cursing and spitting in rage. He righted himself and found his route back to the deck in pursuit of Hamilton blocked. "So, Bootstrap, you planning to tie me to a cannon and toss me to the deeps?"

"Not a bad idea," said Bootstrap. "Once we've lifted the curse." He and Will started forward, but Barbossa spat at them and dove out one of the numerous holes in the _Pearl's _hull.

Elizabeth ran to it and peered out. "He's heading for shore. He'll lift the curse and run."

"Or hide himself until it's safe. There's treasure enough here to buy him a fleet and crews to hunt down Jack," said Bootstrap. To Will and Elizabeth, he said, "Get back and get that sword from Hamilton. Copperhead may think he's immortal, but he still wants it back. Once he and the sword are aboard the _Bloodstone,_ they'll be back to the depths they came from." Then he turned and dove out of the hole after Barbossa.

Will watched him go anxiously. "Barbossa still has the advantage. My father's not cursed anymore; he can be killed."

"Come on," Elizabeth said, tugging his arm gently. "If we can end the _Bloodstone_, we can go after them." With a reluctant nod, Will let her draw him away.

* * *

Above decks, Jack and Copperhead were still crossing swords and wits when Jack spotted the noble fop emerging from the hold with the telltale glint of silver and white at his belt. "Oh, mate, hate to interrupt our little tête-à-tête, but me eyes spy your sword in the hands of one what don't own it."

Copperhead's quick sideways glance turned into a complete about-face when he spotted Sir Reginald Hamilton. "YOU!" Hamilton froze, and Copperhead, forgetting all about Jack, started for him. "You robbed me ship and me crew's grave!"

Hamilton either recognized Copperhead or finally connected the presence of the dead ships and sailors with his theft of the sword from the wreck, but he bolted. Copperhead gave chase, but Hamilton, for all his frippery, was faster than he looked, and would have made it to the grapple line for the _Dauntless_—if Jack hadn't got there first. "Sorry, mate. Not taking your stolen goods off this ship!"

"Out of my way!" Hamilton bellowed, drawing the white sword, but Jack just laughed.

"Really bad idea, friend." He strolled forward lazily, giving the fop the same warning brandishment that he'd given young Will Turner nearly three years ago.

Unlike Will, Hamilton got the message—or perhaps just didn't have the nerve to stand his ground. Not when he'd a chance of holding onto his pilfered bauble by making a dash for it. Copperhead nearly collided with Jack when Hamilton wheeled around and sprinted in the opposite direction…straight towards the _Bloodstone_.

"Ar, I guess _that_ seemed like a good idea," Jack snorted. Copperhead just growled and kept after him. Jack watched and grinned.

It might have all been shot to hell when Will and Elizabeth came charging up from below, but Jack frantically waved them aside. The pair looked startled, but fortunately had the presence of mind to obey Jack, and Will pulled his bonny lass out of the way. His eyes widened as Hamilton dashed past for the edge of the deck as he comprehended what the stupid nobleman was about to do. Elizabeth gasped as Hamilton swung aboard the _Bloodstone_, with Copperhead Wellings a breath behind him. She turned and looked behind them, hearing the sound of the _Dauntless's_ guns splitting the air, the groaning and creaking of ships that would never be seaworthy but for the supernatural force that drove them in pursuit of the thief. The dead men aboard them would swarm over the _Pearl _and the _Dauntless_, cutting down everyone alive in their path to retrieve what was theirs.

The moment Copperhead's boots landed upon the _Bloodstone's _rotten deck, the old ship gave a tremendous lurch, and the very air seemed to darken with the return of Death. Elizabeth flinched backward, away from the deck rail, fearful of the sea that had begun to churn and boil, sucking the dead vessels down. Will's arms came protectively around her from behind, though she still shivered and could feel Will's heart pounding against her.

Upon the _Bloodstone's _deck, Sir Reginald had at last realized his folly. He spun wildly about, seeking any escape, but the only possible path of retreat was back to the _Black Pearl_. But already the sea was surging up the Spaniard's bow, and all those who remained aboard her could not be counted among the living. Hamilton cursed and drew the white sword, attempting to slash his way through the crowd of dead sailors back to the grapples, but more came at him with every instant, climbing over the deck rail, stumping across the rotten wood with more ease than he.

"Jesus God," breathed Anamaria, and even Jack was silent, grimly watching.

Finally, in desperation, Hamilton sheathed the weapon and hurled it up the deck, where it lodged itself against the figurehead upon the bowsprit, as though the goddess the Spaniards had carved to guide their vessel now bore the white sword in her hands.

But Hamilton had waited too long. Either the denizens of Davey Jones's Locker meant to punish the thief, or his delay in leaving had led them to count him among themselves. Norrington came running across the _Pearl's _deck, now that the other vessels threatening the _Dauntless_ were vanishing beneath the waves. "God almighty," he whispered, seeing Hamilton in the midst of a crowd of ghostly sailors, their skeletal fingers capturing his clothes and his limbs, trapping him as the vessel whose grave he had robbed returned to its watery resting place.

The churning of the disturbed Caribbean nearly drowned out Hamilton's screams as the _Bloodstone_ and its crew dragged him under. Copperhead, on the other hand, reached the nose and shook his fist at Jack, roaring something about Barbossa.

"Shoulda learned your lesson about trusting that one, old boy," said Jack, with an apologetic wave.

Then Copperhead was gone, and only the very tip of the bowsprit remained above water, with the hilt of the white sword glistening in the sun. "A beacon o'temptation, that is," said Gibbs. "Sea's lookin' to snare new prey now she's got that Hamilton."

Will and Elizabeth exchanged awkward glances, suddenly aware again that Hamilton was—or rather, had been—Norrington's father-in-law. Speaking of fathers… "Jack. My father went into the cave after Barbossa," Will said.

Jack blinked at him. "Why the bloody hell didn't you say so?" he exclaimed, and swung away from the rail, waving the crew toward the ship's boat. "Get 'er in the water!"

Lieutenant Gillette had come aboard the _Pearl_ and watched the pirates dubiously. "Captain, our Marines are standing by, awaiting orders."

Pausing from readying to launch the boat, Will and Jack met Norrington's eyes. The Commodore regarded them for a moment, then turned to Gillette. "They're to stay on the _Dauntless._" To Jack, he said, "Captain Sparrow, I shall require a word before you sail."

"You'll have it, mate," said Jack cheerfully, giving him a mock-salute before jumping into the boat. "Pull for the cave, ye scalawags!"

* * *

They heard no sounds when they headed back into the chamber of stone where the _Black Pearl_ under Barbossa's crew had hoarded its cursed treasure. Norrington had suggested that Elizabeth stay behind, and Will had looked ready to agree when Elizabeth delivered a glare that quelled them both, sending Anamaria and Jack into fits of laughter. "Growing on me, this one!" Anamaria had crowed.

But she did stay close to Will as they ventured into the grotto by torchlight, either to comfort him or herself from the memories they shared of that place. Jack was in the lead, skulking in his characteristic odd way that would have made Will grin if he hadn't been wondering where his father was.

All at once, a groan from behind a pile of trinkets made them all jump, and Will raced toward the sound. "Father!"

They found Bootstrap staggering to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. "Bloody bastard got the jump on me," he muttered.

"All right there, Bill?" Gibbs asked.

"Fine. Guess I'm lucky he didn't shoot me," Bootstrap grumbled.

"Famous last words, Bill!" said a voice from above them.

The gunshot that followed might well have dropped one of them, had they not all known enough about Barbossa by now not to stand still for an instant without him in their sights. As it was, the bullet took Jack's hat off, leaving a perfect hole in the top. Jack bared his teeth.

"_Now_ I've got a vendetta, mate!"

Barbossa leapt off the stone mound he'd been standing on as Jack and Bootstrap charged him, and attempted to dash across the cave to any one of the numerous exits. They could all hear the jangling of the bag on his belt; it was as predicted, that Barbossa would bide his time before buying a ship and crew in Tortuga and resuming his feud with Jack and Bootstrap, this time on the open Caribbean.

"Am I to take it poor old Copperhead's gone back to the depths?" Barbossa taunted, dodging for another tunnel as Gibbs and Cotton tried to head him off.

"Aye, poor bastard's discovered the pain of being double-crossed by the slippery Barbossa," Jack confirmed, managing to meet Barbossa on the cave floor and exchange a few wild sword blows before Barbossa broke and ran again.

"I do have a habit of slipping through your fingers, Jack," Barbossa sneered. "Just can't seem to get rid of me, eh?"

"Dunno about that," said Jack. "You've managed to come back the dead once, but I've got meself off a pirate's marooned island—twice. At least, you're even with Bootstrap here--o'course, he's made it up from the depths."

"Aye," Barbossa growled, taking a swipe at Bootstrap. "But seeing as I'm now the only immortal here, I think I may end up outlasting you both!"

"Since when are they the only ones you're contending with?" said Will from behind him.

Barbossa swung around, but Elizabeth coshed him with a grapple and smashed the sword out of his hand. He went for another pistol, but Will, Bootstrap, and Jack all pounced on him and bore him to the ground. "Get the medallion!"

Elizabeth and Anamaria rifled through Barbossa's clothes, until Anamaria shouted triumphantly, "I got it!" and pulled the offending coin from his boot.

"Figured you'd be a bit reluctant to shed your blood a second time, old friend," grunted Jack, drawing a knife. "So we've decided to try the method you used on Will and Elizabeth here." With a quick slash, the coin was stained red, and Anamaria tossed it and the coin taken from Copperhead back into the chest.

"Done! Not so cocky now, eh?"

Will and Elizabeth joined Anamaria in watching as Jack and Bootstrap released Barbossa. The mutineer scrambled away from them, spitting out curses and fumbling for his sword. "So who's to duel me first, now that we're all pledged to fight to the death? Settling our dispute here and now, eh?"

"Jack already got to kill you once; my turn, I think," said Bootstrap. Jack eyed his punctured hat and pouted, but then bowed dramatically and backed away. "Thanks." Bootstrap drew his own pistol and fired.

Barbossa blinked, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally, he blurted out,"No fair!"

"What's your point?" Bootstrap demanded, but Barbossa couldn't have answered if he wanted to, as he was now face-down in the watery cave floor. Will, Elizabeth, and the others gazed at the body, then at each other, and shrugged.

Jack strolled over to Bootstrap and peered at his pistol. "How long've you carried that one?"

"Oh, about twenty minutes. Wasn't as if I could use me own gun after it'd rotted on the sea floor for years! Not as if he knew the difference!"

"Good point. All right there, Will? Elizabeth?"

The two looked at each other, then at Jack and Bootstrap. It was Elizabeth who broke first and began to laugh, and Will too began to chuckle, grinning foolishly. Jack looked at them both as if they were quite daft. Rather unfair, in Will and Elizabeth's opinion. Quite undeserved,especially given the source.

"All right then, me hearties. Back to the _Black Pearl_ to face the harsh justice of the Royal Navy," said Jack. Gibbs and Anamaria were among those of the crew who responded to that statement with a loud snort.

* * *

As they rowed back to the _Pearl_, Jack and the crew were startled to see the bowsprit of the _Bloodstone_ surrounded by boats. "What the devil are you up to now, Norrington?" Jack muttered.

Returning to the ship, they found a small company of Marines on board, with Norrington and Gillette awaiting them. "I'm afraid you have much to answer for, Captain Sparrow," Gillette said pompously.

Jack ignored him, "What's that to-do with the _Bloodstone_?"

"I thought it might be advisable to make sure that none of these ships are capable of rising again even as ghosts," said the Commodore. "We're placing charges in their hulls. If their crews decide to go hunting again, they'll be in rafts." At the pirates' doubtful expressions, he added, "And all the same, my men are under orders not to bring back so much as a splinter."

"Not a bad idea, I supposes," said Gibbs.

Jack half-bowed, signaling his own approval. "And what're your intentions towards me crew of scurvy miscreants, good Commodore?"

Norrington looked awkward. "That rather depends. I was in the process of investigating a raid on Port Royal, as you know. I am still required to return to the Governor with answers as to whether any of the _Black Pearl's _crew were involved."

"Told you last time we talked, mate, none aboard my ship go about wearing masks," said Jack.

"But you seem to have acquired a few passengers since then," pointed out Gillette.

Jack rather fancied he could see the Lieutenant tugging the Commodore's sleeve like a schoolboy anxious for a high mark. He withheld a snort. "Question away, gentlemen. We're glad to cooperate with the esteemed Royal Navy. Got a description of your raiders since?"

Gillette blinked, then frowned, looking uncomfortably at Norrington. "A man, dark-haired, deep-voiced. He had a scar across his palm…rather like the one _you_ do, Mr. Sparrow," he suddenly remarked, his voice smoothing as his mouth twisted to a smug smile.

Jack held out his hand in the sun as if just noticing his own scar. "Why, so I do. But I've accounted for me whereabouts on the night the dastardly deed was done, hasn't I?"

Norrington nodded dismissively, causing Gillette to stare at him in disbelief. "Yes, to my satisfaction."

"What about Turner?" Gillette suddenly protested. "He's got one too! And he wasn't on the _Black Pearl_ when it happened!"

"How can you be sure of that?" Elizabeth demanded, stepping forward. "I was on the _Black Pearl _when you came aboard last—I simply had no wish to be seen by…him, again. And," she extended her hand, "you'll find scars aren't a terribly distinguishing feature among pirates."

Norrington and Gillette stared at the white line across her palm, and Jack was certain he saw Norrington trying not to laugh. "If you pop down into the grotto where the cursed Aztec treasure's hid, you'll find poor old dear dead Barbossa also sports such a scar," said Jack. "And any other pirate who sailed with him on the _Pearl_. Mark o' those who gave blood to lift the curse, mate. At least three dozen men—and one woman—carry it."

Now there was no mistaking it; Norrington was laughing, albeit silently. Gillette looked ready to explode. "I fear," the Commodore said, with impressive decorum, "that we can make no arrests without greater evidence."

"They're pirates!" Gillette suddenly hissed. "Isn't that suspicion enough for a British court?"

Jack affected a wounded expression. "Are you impugning my noble crew's honor, sir? What acts of piracy do we be charged with, these past two years since we set sail?"

"Destroying the _Interceptor,_" Gillette urged Norrington.

"Er…Barbossa's crew did that, actually," Elizabeth said delicately.

"Stealing it, then!"

"Commandeering, actually," said Will.

"Murdering Sir Reginald!"

"You were there, mate, we didn't lay a hand on Sir Fancy-Pants. He put his feet and fingers where they shouldn't've been and couldn't get out. Not our fault or our doing," said Jack.

"Enough, enough," said Norrington, sounding impatient, although they rather suspected it was due to his desire not to burst out laughing at the exchange between the pirates and his increasingly-indignant Lieutenant. "We can prove nothing here, and I'll not waste the British courts' time on it. Finish preparing the charges, and we'll set them off as we sail. I would recommend, Captain Sparrow, that you move your ship well beyond this harbor."

"Much obliged, mate," said Jack, bowing dramatically.

Norrington nodded, then paused. "Elizabeth, Mr. Turner. We're bound for Port Royal, if you wish to return."

Elizabeth stared, then turned to Will. He swallowed and looked at his father. "We'd…we'd planned on being married there…if you…"

Bootstrap smiled. "You know my feelings about being land-bound, son. Still," he half-bowed to Elizabeth. "If I had someone as pretty to stay for, I might be willing. Wish you all the best, and hope I'll be able to visit from time to time?"

"You'll always be welcome," Elizabeth said softly. Will looked a little sad, but not terribly surprised. "I hope…" she looked at Jack. "I hope we'll be able to get word to you in time. You'd be welcome at the wedding too."

"Whatever would your father say, love?" Jack asked, but with a mischievous smile as he took in Norrington's startled expression.

"Hang my father," she replied pertly. "I'm marrying a pirate; he'll just have to come to terms with it."

This set off cries of "hear, hear!" from the crew, and Jack laughed.

"Not to worry, then, love. We'll be in touch."

"Fair voyage, son," said Bootstrap, squeezing Will's shoulder.

"And you," Will replied.

As the two returned to the _Dauntless_ with Norrington and the still-disgruntled Gillette, Jack eyed Bootstrap. "Proud of him? Even if he doesn't seem quite the pirate that you are?"

"Oh, I dunno about that," Bootstrap replied. "He's managed to commandeer ships, give the Navy the slip, fight among the scurvies sea dogs—and he's laid his hands on some bloody rare treasure. Not many women who can turn a man away from his pirate blood."

"Cast off!" Jack bellowed at the crew, and he and Bootstrap strolled up to the wheel. "Envy him, do you?"

Bootstrap looked at his son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law, standing together on the _Dauntless's_ deck, then up at the _Black Pearl's _rigging. "Yes and no." He grinned at Jack.

"Get back to work, you mangy scalawag!" Jack snapped, and Bootstrap headed up the mast, laughing.

* * *

The _Black Pearl_ beat the _Dauntless_ out of the lagoon, since the Navy vessel was still awaiting the return of several of its boats. "Where were they?" Elizabeth asked as the last of the Marines came back aboard.

"We thought it might be advisable to cut off this passage for good, as well as blasting the ships," said Norrington. "This island seems to be nothing but trouble for both pirates _and_ honest shipping." He glanced sideways at Will, but the other man just grinned.

"I can't argue with that." Will glanced over his shoulder at the bowsprit of the _Bloodstone_, then frowned. "I can't see the sword anymore."

"Is the sun wrong?" Elizabeth suggested.

"Probably slipped off her nose when we were placing the charges. It's still with the wreck, not to worry," said Gillette. To Norrington, he said, "We're ready here."

"Do it."

Moments later, fire and smoke erupted into the air from the wreckage scattered throughout the lagoon, and the _Bloodstone _and all her kin were reduced to driftwood floating in the depths. As the _Dauntless _sailed out of the Isla de la Muerta passage, a second series of blasts brought tons of rock crashing down into the water, sealing off the entry to the place where men living and dead had fought and allied.

Elizabeth let her head rest on Will's arm. "Thank God that's over."

Will looked at her nervously. "I wasn't sure if you wanted me to come back to Port Royal after how stupidly I acted."

She stared at him. "Do you think I would have gone through all that to find you only to give you a hiding?" He blinked, then they both laughed.

"So…you'll still have me?"

Elizabeth regarded him, the face so much like Bootstrap's, but more serious, and as attractive as a blacksmith as he was as a pirate. But she needed no deliberation for her answer.

"Of course."

And they stood upon the deck as the _Dauntless_ sailed toward the setting sun back to Jamaica.

Toward home.

_**To be continued…**_

**_Coming Soon (I promise):_** _As you may have guessed, thisdangerous dance with the sea and her treasures is not yet over. Will and Elizabeth return to Port Royal, but a deadly secret threatens to destroy the new homes and lives that both the Turners and the Norringtons are hoping to build in Chapter Ten: Hand of the Caribbean!_

**PLEASE don't forget to review!**

**Happy Hanukah, Happy Kwanzaa, Good Solstice, Happy Yule, and to everyone this Christmas Eve, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night! All I want for Christmas are your reviews!**


	11. Chapter Ten: Hand of the Caribbean

_**A/N: **I hope another timely update of this story continues to make up for the wait I put you poor readers through. And I hope this chapter is as exciting for you to read as it was for me to write. I was a little wary of posting this chapter right around this time of year, due to the reasons explained below, but I don't want to keep you waiting for weeks when I have the chapter ready. _

**_WARNING:_** _There is **violence and some gruesome death** in this chapter. It contains a vivid description of the earthquake and tsunami that destroyed Port Royal in 1692, and even by natural disaster standards, that event was one of the nastiest in human history. Some of the victims died in rather grisly ways, so **please use caution about reading this chapter**. You may think that my description of the tsunami bears a resemblance to the horrible images of the tsunami that struck the Indian Ocean last year—I am not aiming to cheapen that tragedy, but the images described in this story are more accurate portrayals of a tsunami than the "big waves" that most people think of. **If you are sensitive to violent deaths or graphic descriptions of natural disasters, I would not advise reading it.** I think that the first part of the chapter makes it clear how the earthquake is incorporated into my story, and I will mark the beginning of the violent material with **O**. If any readers who choose to skip that section have trouble following what has happened in the story, feel free to let me know via review or private message, and I will fill you in._

**Chapter Ten: Hand of the Caribbean**

Elizabeth was availing herself of the ship surgeon's assistance in treating her various cuts and bruises when Commodore Norrington came below. She smiled absently at him as the surgeon bandaged a long gash on her arm, then blushed as he stared. "I should be surprised that you recognized me at all, Commodore," she said, settling for a casual approach to her rather untraditional appearance.

James took the cue and smiled sheepishly. "You do look somewhat different from your normal appearance in Port Royal, Miss Swann. Anyone would think you'd gone pirate."

They both chuckled, but Elizabeth suddenly felt guilty. "I suppose you had to cut your honeymoon short. My apologies. Did Lucy go on to England?"

"I suggested she do so, but she declined to proceed on her honeymoon without the groom," James seemed rather pleased. "She is waiting for me in Port Royal."

"I am glad," Elizabeth told him. "I would feel terrible if Will's and my latest escapade separated you from your wife."

"She'll be eager to hear of your adventures, I'm sure," Norrington replied. "And you'll be pleased to know we should make port tomorrow evening."

Elizabeth laughed. "That will be a relief." She rubbed her arms, noticing that her flesh there had grown quite firm from weeks of work as a sailor and barmaid. She pondered telling Norrington about that, but decided against it. "Being a pirate is rather exciting, but it's also rather exhausting."

* * *

Some time later, she found Will up on the bow of the ship, gazing out over the water. "What are you thinking of?"

"My father," he said, with unguarded honesty. "And Jack."

A pang of apprehension went through her. "Do you…regret not staying with them aboard the _Pearl_?"

Will tilted his head thoughtfully as the wind blew through his dark hair, then replied, "A little, sometimes. But that's not what I was thinking just now." His face grew less troubled, and he smiled easily at her. "I was remembering how I used to regard pirates, before I met Jack. I would have assumed they were all alike: Jack, Barbossa, Copperhead, my father."

Elizabeth shrugged, mentally tallying the pleasant days she had left of uncorseted bliss. "I was the same, though I regarded all pirates as fascinating adventurers." She absently stood a little closer to Will in the cool sea wind, and he did not pull away. "What is it, do you suppose, that makes a pirate a good man? The real difference between Barbossa and Jack? Jack's not what I would call honest, or…gentlemanly," (Will stifled a snort of laughter). "He lies and steals and kills. What do you think?"

Will gazed out over the water at the late afternoon sun for several moments before replying. "Jack's neither honest nor a fair fighter, but his word is good. In the end, he can be trusted. My father too. He deals fair with his crew and his allies. Barbossa just the opposite. He wasn't loyal to anyone, even his crew and his allies. He double-crossed Copperhead as well as Jack."

"Do you suppose that's really true or are we just saying it to excuse ourselves for liking Jack so much?" Elizabeth grinned.

"Who knows? Maybe it's just because he's Captain Jack Sparrow."

They both began to laugh, then turned and walked below decks, arm-in-arm with a casual affection quite appallingly improper. But if the events of the past two years had taught them anything, it was that such silly details as custom no longer mattered.

* * *

The _Dauntless_ returned to Port Royal the following day. Will and Elizabeth left it to Commodore Norrington to break the sad news to his wife of her father's death in a "seagoing accident," while Elizabeth steeled herself for a confrontation with her own father. However, his daughter's second disappearance had apparently taught Weatherby Swann a few things, and he reproached neither Elizabeth nor Will for their actions, but rather begged both their forgiveness, and suggested that they look to setting a wedding date. His daughter and her fiancé readily agreed.

Furthermore, during his daughter's absence, Weatherby Swann had been replaced as Governor of Jamaica. Sir William Beeston had arrived from England only a few weeks before the _Dauntless_ returned, and Elizabeth found her father's servants moving him from the Governor's mansion to a handsome dwelling near St. Paul's, until such time as a larger property among the plantations could be secured. Still, the former governor took the loss of his position with equanimity, perhaps in the newly-discovered knowledge that some things in life were far more important than others, and he was so busy rejoicing at the safe return of Elizabeth that he barely remarked on his changed circumstances. If Sir William had any thoughts about the former governor's daughter's impending nuptials to a blacksmith, he did not say.

Will re-opened the smithy, to the great joy of Port Royal's merchants, and although Swann offered to find him more suitable quarters in town than the single room in the back of the shop, he declined, preferring to save such favors for things he and Elizabeth would require together in their married life. But he did accept his future father-in-law's company—as was all quite proper—when they made their visit to Reverend Heath at St. Paul's to discuss the arrangements for the wedding to Elizabeth.

To the complete astonishment of both Will and Elizabeth, Swann did not even object when Elizabeth delicately mentioned her intention to invite Captain Sparrow and the crew of the _Black Pearl_ to the wedding—though he did cringe a bit.

Whatever sorrows Lucy Norrington felt at her father's loss, she distracted herself from them alternately through running her own household and helping Elizabeth plan for hers. There were few society women Elizabeth's age in Port Royal to begin with, fewer still who she had called real friends, and scarcely any who cared to take an interest in her upcoming wedding to a blacksmith of dubious reputation. So it was Lucinda who joined Elizabeth in the planning of it all.

With societal difficulties now behind them, the only remaining obstacle that Will and Elizabeth encountered in preparing for married life was their house—or lack thereof. Building one would take time, and while Swann had suggested that they were welcome live at his house until their own was prepared, Elizabeth in particular was eager to manage her own household. But as Will was heavily occupied with back orders from his clientele, they worried they would have to settle for being Swann's guests indefinitely if they wished to be married at any time in the near future.

Somehow, Lucy's assurances to the two of them that "it will all work out," turned out to be precisely true. In early May, a Mister Edward Francis, one of Port Royal's merchants, was widowed and elected to return to England. His home, a modest house on High Street not far from the Governor's mansion, was put up for sale.

Will and Elizabeth went to see it with their small wedding party a month before their planned June wedding. "It's very small," said Swann.

"I like it," Elizabeth replied. "And since Will and I are going to be the only ones living here, it needn't be enormous."

"Servants' quarters?"

"We're only bringing Mary, Father."

"They're very nice, sir," the maid told Swann. "Missus won't need more than me to manage things in a small house. Take care of 'em easily, I can, in a place this size."

"I think it's lovely," Lucy said.

"Will?" Elizabeth asked her quiet fiancé. "What do you think?"

Will looked from the house to her, then back again, then at the paper in his hand indicating the appointments and the price. Then he smiled. "I think it's perfect. Shall I take it?"

Lucy squealed, Mary applauded, and even Swann grinned as Elizabeth nodded, her eyes brimming. Mister Francis closed the deal with Will Turner that afternoon, and spent several hours walking about the house with him, discussing improvements that the young blacksmith might make to the property, while Miss Swann and Mrs. Norrington and the maid scampered around inside discussing their plans for decorating.

* * *

_June 7, 1692…_

Commodore Norrington came in person one pleasant morning two weeks before the wedding to pick up an order from Will, and to chat. "Are you placing any new orders?" Will asked as the Commodore inspected the newest sword.

"Not that can't wait until after your wedding," said Norrington with a sly smile. "It would be terribly poor taste to keep you busy at that time." Will blushed, and the Commodore ceased teasing him. "Elizabeth seems very happy."

"She and Mrs. Norrington are at the house as we speak, supervising the decorations."

"And you're not to have a honeymoon? Lucy is appalled."

They both knew Will's work would not allow for time away from Port Royal, but neither Will nor Elizabeth were terribly troubled. "We're glad enough to be going to our own house on our wedding day," Will said cheerfully.

"So I thought. And by the way, it may interest you to know that Lieutenant Gillette claims to have spied the _Black Pearl_ on his last patrol with the _Dauntless,_" Norrington added.

Will paused from tidying his work space. "Oh? I'm interested to know what Lieutenant _Gillette_ claims to have seen them doing?" Gillette's attitude toward Jack and pirates had become a running joke between the Commodore and the soon-to-be Turners.

"Oh, the usual. Accosting innocent privateers, stealing already-illegal shipments of rum, terrorizing the natives…" Norrington delivered the report with a perfectly straight face, but Will laughed.

"Did he demand to hang them again?"

"No, he knows better, but he did suggest a report to the Crown for an investigation. I declined, deeming it unnecessary."

"Let me guess: he's sulking."

"Like a scolded apprentice." This time they both laughed. "Perhaps I'll have him run up a white flag next time he encounters them, to deliver your wedding invitation to Captain Sparrow and company."

Will grinned. "I would be most exceedingly obliged, Commodore."

Norrington smiled and closed the box containing the new sword. "Magnificent work, as always, Mr. Turner. Good morning."

"Good morning, Commodore."

"Mrs. Norrington wishes to invite you and Miss Swann to dinner at our house tomorrow evening, if you can spare the time."

"We'd be delighted. Until then."

* * *

"For goodness sake, Lucy, leave off! Your enthusiasm is exhausting me." Elizabeth dropped wearily into a chair in the parlor and fanned her face. "You've yet to experience the full fury of a Port Royal summer."

Lucy obediently abandoned the painting she'd been trying to find a place for on the wall and came to sit beside her friend. "James says the air is full of steam."

"James does not exaggerate. Mary?" Elizabeth called to the maid. "Some tea for Mrs. Norrington and something cold for me."

"Yes, miss!"

Elizabeth watched the lacy curtains fluttering in the sea breeze and sighed. "What arduous task have you planned next for us, O wise housewife?"

Lucy swatted her with her fan. "You still haven't made up your mind on the linens for the bedrooms. If you're so dreadfully spent, we could take my carriage down after luncheon."

"I'll miss the fine ones from home, but we can't afford them." It was strange, Elizabeth supposed, that she could be so matter-of-fact about such things to Lucy Norrington—who hadn't done without the finest trappings England had to offer in all her life—when her father tended to wring his hands at even the suggestion that his daughter would no longer be seen in silks and pearls. "Still, we'd best have them before stocks run low and the prices go up." It was a little odd, having to consider things like prices and the shifts in the markets, but it had come easier than Elizabeth expected, probably due to the time she'd spent penniless in Tortuga. She still hadn't told Lucy about that.

Mary had just put the tea tray down and handed Elizabeth a glass of lemonade when there was a faint rumble in the distance. It seemed to be thunder at first, but lasted longer, and then grew louder. The tray began to vibrate, as did the ornaments upon the furniture and the very ground under their feet.

Lucy yelped, leaping to her feet in alarm, and Mary hastily steadied the tray and its contents lest they vibrate right off the small table. "Don't panic!" Elizabeth said, catching Lucy's arm as the rumbling faded.

"What _was _that?"

"A tremor, Madam," said Mary. She shuddered delicately. "Happens here now and then. Takes a bit of getting used to. Things fall sometimes, and once a whole row of storehouses came crashin' down on the beach, but nothin' too terrible."

Lucy looked a little pale, eyeing the ground as if expecting it to throw her off her feet at any moment. "Why on earth does that happen?"

"No one knows," said Elizabeth, handing her the tea with a little extra sugar to steady her nerves. "They say it happens in Spain and Portugal, but I've never heard of earthquakes in England or France. Something about the ground being less steady here, I suppose. Never mind. Mary, when we're finished with our drinks, why don't we open that crystal that Mr. Francis sent?"

"Very good, Miss. They say it's from one of the finest makers in Ireland! Right beautiful things!"

Lucy relaxed, satisfied that the earth had once again stilled, and the two of them returned to their plans without a second thought.

* * *

Will returned early from delivering several orders to the small Spanish compliment by the docks, having heard there had been a small tremor. It was probably not enough to damage the buildings, but he wanted to make sure there was no danger of the fire catching anything in the shop. All blacksmiths kept an ample supply of water on hand, and Will had learned from experience to keep all flammable materials well away from the fire, especially when Mr. Brown had been drunkenly running the place.

But he arrived to find that the shop was not empty.

Lieutenant Gillette was there, with a gentleman who appeared to be one of the wealthier plantation owners. They both looked startled to see Will.

"Gentlemen? Is there something I can do for you?"

"I was, ah, showing Sir Peter your establishment, Mr. Turner. He's, ah…interested in purchasing a sword for a friend."

The man's tone immediately raised Will's suspicions. Gillette had always been a pompous character, like Norrington before they'd become friends (or rather, more so), and his dislike of Will had only increased due to Will's association with Jack. Will and Norrington both suspected that Gillette's head had been turned by the prospect of feathering his cap with the capture of the _Black Pearl_ and its notorious captain, and the Lieutenant was forever disgruntled that the Commodore would not allow it (assuming Gillette could even have caught Jack, which Will doubted.)

His strange deference now was cause for caution.

"Indeed," Will said carefully, watching Gillette's body language rather than turning his attention properly to the potential customer. He subtly kept himself between them and the nearest door, increasingly curious as to what they'd been doing. "Does Sir Peter have a particular style of weapon in mind?"

Sir Peter, for his part, looked as baffled by Gillette's statements as Will, but attempted (badly) to follow Gillette's lead. "Er…well, I've seen you do fine work, Turner, very handsome swords, and…perhaps you could show me around, now that you're here?"

Will kept his eyes on Gillette, but slowly nodded. "Gladly. But you understand that I prefer customers to wait until I am present before entering my establishment."

Warning delivered, and—strangely—accepted. "Of course, Mr. Turner. My apologies for the presumption. I'll, er, leave you to it, then."

Sir Peter shot Gillette a highly startled look as the man attempted to take his leave, and Will thought to question the nobleman once Gillette had gone—but as Gillette opened the door, sunlight glinted off silver and white hidden beneath the Lieutenant's uniform coat.

"GILLETTE!" Will roared, springing for the door.

Gillette actually tried to run, but Will was upon him in seconds, grabbing the tail of his coat so hard that it swung them both around, and had the effect of exposing the object the man was so desperate to hide—a sword of filigreed silver, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, gleaming in the sunlight with such spectacular beauty that it took one's breath away.

As Sir Peter made a hasty retreat, Will slammed the officer against the smithy wall. "_What the devil are you doing with that? _What the hell have you done?"

"Unhand me!" Gillette shouted, shoving Will away. "There's no owner to complain against legitimate salvage, and I don't answer to an upstart _blacksmith!_"

"You bloody fool, you know perfectly well that the owner of that thing can complain!"

"We blew the ships and the passage to pieces! They'll not be troubling us again!"

Will was appalled at the arrogance of the man. "It wasn't just the ships and their crews, Gillette, it was the _sea._ A few barrels of gunpowder won't stop it from claiming its own!"

Gillette sneered. "Perhaps simple pirates can be swayed by superstitious nonsense, but I'm an officer in His Majesty's Navy! You, you presumptuous slob, trying to insinuate your way into a society you're not fit to, flouting the laws of decent men with that Sparrow character—the Commodore should have hanged you both! Sir Peter will give me a decent price for the sword, and he has the ear of the new Governor. Norrington won't be in command of the Caribbean fleet for long!"

Will blocked his path when he would have stormed off toward the fort. "Perhaps, but it'll be long enough to have you shot for disobeying his orders not to touch those wrecks."

Steel rang in the scabbard as Gillette drew the white sword's blade, and passers-by in the street shouted in alarm. "Norrington ought to be shot for harboring pirates! As it is, I'll do my duty and rid the Caribbean of one of them right now!"

Will ducked frantically under the first wild swing and threw himself out of the way. _I ought to start wearing a sword everywhere,_ he mused. "You may view it as your duty, Lieutenant, but society views it as murder!"

Gillette kept the white sword trained on Will and began to back away. "I _will_ do away with you, Turner, if you cross me again! Learn your place and stay in it!"

"You've made this a dangerous place for all of us by stealing that sword!" Will shouted.

Whatever retort Gillette would have made was cut off by a distant rumble, and for the second time in minutes, the ground trembled beneath their feet. It was not enough to knock them down, but something shattered down at the potters' kiln, and people came out of their shops curiously. It had the effect of stopping the confrontation between Will and Gillette, and the Lieutenant had lowered the white sword, looking around apprehensively.

"Gillette," Will said urgently. "We must get that thing back to Isla de la Muerta. No one will be safe until it's off this island!"

The other man gave no reply, but started to turn away from Will—only to find himself face-to-face with Commodore Norrington. "I think that's sound advice, Lieutenant—though I use your rank loosely."

Gillette lurched backwards, and Will lunged as he saw the white sword being raised again. Norrington pivoted away from the disgraced officer, avoiding a slashing blow, and Will grabbed Gillette from behind.

"Come to your senses, man!" Norrington shouted, joining Will in trying to restrain Gillette. "This trinket is not worth the trouble!"

"You've—no—right!" Gillette grunted, fighting against the two of them, and still trying to free the sword from Will's grasp.

An elbow to the stomach doubled Will over, and Gillette again attempted to hack at Norrington with the white sword's blade. Will shouted a warning, Norrington rocked backward, but at the last second, both men caught Gillette's arm and wrested the hilt of the weapon from his hand.

The white sword flew several yards from the force of the struggle, landing point-down, sinking halfway to the hilt into the sandy earth.

* * *

**O**

* * *

In the parlor of what was soon to be the Turners' new home, Elizabeth and Lucy had just risen from their refreshments when the rumbling sound returned for a third time, first low as before, then this time rising in volume. The motion of the earth went from vibrating to earnest shaking, unbalancing the women, and Lucy shrieked as the tea tray fell off the table, its contents shattering upon the floor. Elizabeth heard Mary shouting from the kitchen, and more crockery crashed as the rumble increased to a roar.

"My God, what's happening?"

The walls seemed to be swinging back and forth, then amid the rumbling of the earth could be heard loud cracks, and the smell of plaster and dust filled the air. Mary stumbled into the parlor and cried, "We gotta get outside, Miss!"

Elizabeth couldn't collect her wits enough to think; she just grabbed Lucy's arm and staggered for the door. Never had she felt such motion as this, even aboard a ship in a storm. The earth bucked wildly beneath her feet, and she, Lucy, and Mary had to cling to each other and the walls to stay upright. The door seemed very far away as sconces fell from the walls and furniture crashed over.

They finally burst out into the late morning sun, but no reprieve was to be had. The tower bell of St. Paul's was ringing, and the three of them clung instinctively to the wrought-iron fence that Will had only just finished in front of the house, peering toward what seemed like a reassuring sound. But they saw that it was the tremors that were causing the bell to swing wildly back and forth—ringing as it did so—until the entire tower went crashing down off the church. Mary began to scream, Lucy was half-sobbing in terror, and Elizabeth realized she herself was breathing so fast that she was all but panting.

* * *

The tremors that rose directly from the ground knocked the three combatants apart, and Will, Norrington, and Gillette stared at each other in confusion as shouts and screams began to ring out from people in the street. "What…" Norrington blurted, trying and failing to get to his feet.

Will looked around, his confused thoughts mirroring the confusion before his eyes as the entire world seemed to shake, and then it dawned on him.

"The sword!"

Both men scrambled across the ground toward the gleaming object embedded in the ground, but even as they approached it, the weapon was sinking into the street, which actually rippled like ocean waves. "Oh, God, no!" Norrington gathered himself and simply dove across the ground, but even as his fingers brushed the hilt, the white sword vanished into the sand.

And then Norrington himself was sinking as well. The Commodore shouted in panic as the patch of the street itself seemed to have turned to quicksand, and no traction could be found for his hands to push himself out of it. "Hold on!" Will could feel the ground softening beneath his body as well, but he grabbed James by the leg and yanked him back toward firm enough earth for them both to crawl away.

They staggered to their feet and looked about in despair; old Mrs. Tapling was screaming in horror and pointing as her shop itself seemed to be sinking into the ground. It was as if the roads themselves were turning to liquid. In other places, the sand vanished altogether and pools of water appeared where the street had been hard and dry only seconds before. The potter's shop simply collapsed, its kiln emitting one belch of flame high into the air, and Will and Norrington held onto each other for balance as they stumbled backwards.

Norrington looked over his shoulder. "Gillette!" he shouted, his eyes flashing with anger, and Will turned to see the Lieutenant attempting to escape down the street, no doubt intending to flee Port Royal in the confusion of the quake.

The man managed to rise and run, even as the facades of buildings crashed down on either side of the street, their windows exploding outward and inward from the shifting of the walls. Norrington and Will recoiled as a geyser of seawater erupted from the street itself, shooting high into the air.

Then Gillette suddenly faltered, losing his balance, and pitched forward, his feet suddenly sinking into another patch of fluid sand. "Gillette!" Will and Norrington rushed after him, hearing him scream as he flailed and sought any means to pull himself free.

Norrington threw himself to the ground on the edge, reaching frantically for the stricken man, but the sandy bog was widening. "Oh God! Oh God!" Gillette flailed toward Norrington. "Help me! HELP!"

"GIVE ME YOUR HAND! GILLETTE—no…"

With another great surge of liquid motion, the street swallowed Lieutenant Gillette even as his commanding officer tried desperately to reach him, and in another instant, the ground had turned solid again. Norrington and Will scrambled to the place where Gillette had gone down, scrabbling with their hands against the sandy earth, but it was packed hard again, as if it had never been disturbed.

"What devilry is this?" Norrington cried. More seawater fountains burst from the ground, water bubbled like springs out of the streets and from under buildings, patches of sand were suddenly replaced by pools of water, and more people sank, screaming, into suddenly-fluid sand. All around them, buildings collapsed in on themselves, some bursting into flames.

And still the very earth roared around them, bucking and heaving beneath their feet, sending them pitching back and forth for balance. People ran screaming in all directions through the streets, and Will and Norrington too lurched along in confusion, having no better idea than any other soul in Port Royal of where to go or what to do. The ground moved in rolling waves as if the streets were imitating the sea, and the sea itself was bursting from the ground, erupting upward in great jets of water, spreading out into pools, or sucking the sand down along with anyone or anything that happened to rest upon it.

Will was nearly caught once, sinking nearly to his thighs before Norrington wrenched him from the sandy mud, and both men felt a horror that was almost indescribable to see several people sink up to their necks further along the street, only to have the ground solidify again even as they struggled—its sudden hardness choking off their breath and suffocating them, leaving their lifeless heads emerged from the bed of the street like unearthed stones.

It seemed as the end of the world to Will, and then he remembered.

"Elizabeth!"

Norrington glanced sideways at him, barely able to hear his voice over the noise of the tremor and the destruction it wreaked, but what color remained in the Commodore's face left it. Thinking as one, the two men turned and rushed as fast as they could up the street toward Will's house.

* * *

The ground was pitching so wildly that even the sturdy iron fence was swinging. Elizabeth, Lucy, and Mary clung to it, watching people attempting to run down the street only to be thrown off their feet, and buildings crashing down all around them. "Miss Elizabeth!" Mary cried. "Should we—make for—the fort?"

Elizabeth craned her neck down the street toward the reassuring bulk of the fort, but it seemed impossibly far away. "I don't know!" she gasped. "Maybe—the church?"

Lucy was too terrified to speak, but looked at Elizabeth in despair—the fall of the church bell tower did not bode well for its likelihood as a shelter, but it was far closer than the fort. Before she could gather her wits, the fence suddenly gave way altogether, crashing down sideways as a great crack split the earth itself, pulling the fence down with it.

Elizabeth and Mary threw themselves backwards, but Lucy did not release the fence in time and was yanked over with it, screaming in panic. "_Oh my God!_" Mary screamed, and Elizabeth crawled forward.

"Lucy! _LUCY!"_ The fence had partially lodged itself in the crack, preventing Lucy from falling all the way in, and Elizabeth simply seized her sleeve and wrist and yanked for all she was worth. She felt Mary's arms wrap around her waist and kept pulling, sobbing in terror. "Come on! Pull, Mary, PULL!"

Then Lucy's feet found purchase on the crack's edge, and with a great shove, the three women landed in a pile of arms and legs on solid—but still shaking—ground, all weeping in panic. Elizabeth pulled herself up. "Come on! We're going to the church!"

Lucy, coughing and choking from dust and dirt, pulled Mary up beside her and staggered along, but suddenly glanced toward the fort. "My husband may be there," she croaked.

"If he's there, Ma'am, he's safer than us, I think," Mary wheezed.

Buildings were still collapsing, dust and water were bursting into the air, people were screaming, and the earth was still roaring. Then, at last, the great rumbling of the ground began to subside, though the wails and crashes from the destruction of Port Royal did not cease. The sandy streets calmed, though Elizabeth and the others were horrified to see people lying everywhere, some clearly crushed by falling debris, others half-in, half-out of the ground as though it had partially swallowed them. Here and there, only a limb, a head, or part of a garment or hat protruded from the street, like hideous weeds between stones.

But the end of the shaking did not bring about the end of their terror, and they simply continued running, able to do so more easily without their balance threatened, but they did not release each others' hands. Other denizens of Port Royal ran this way and that, calling out for companions, shouting instructions, some fleeing to the fort, others to the church, some heading straight for the docks to sail away from this stricken place.

They were rounding a bend in the street when Mary tripped over…something, and sprawled hard. Lucy and Elizabeth paused to right her, then Mary pointed. "Look at the water!"

The three women and many others in Port Royal stopped and stared at the Caribbean. Although the tremors had ceased, the harbor seemed to be boiling, the water's edge at an unnaturally low position, exposing areas that had always been beneath the waves, leaving most of the docks completely dry.

* * *

In another part of Port Royal, Will and Norrington too could view the strange sight, and had slowed their panicked attempt to reach the fort as they looked on at the harbor in confusion. "Has the earthquake changed the shoreline?" Will managed to ask, wondering if the pitching of the earth had moved the entire island.

"I don't know…" Norrington muttered, more experienced with such things after living in Port Royal almost all his life. "I don't understand why…"

Then a new sound reached their ears, the rumble of disturbed earth, but also something else, a higher-pitched sound, like a hiss, that was increasing to a new roar of hell's fury upon Port Royal. Will saw Norrington's face slacken into horror. "Sweet Jesus…" he spun around, taking in the people massing in the streets, still struggling with damaged buildings, some attempting to retrieve their possessions. "_GET TO HIGHER GROUND! ALL OF YOU PEOPLE, MOVE TO HIGH GROUND NOW!"_

Then he grabbed Will by the arm and bodily yanked him up the street. His cry of warning was heeded, thank God, but even if it had not been, the sea and the earth were now giving warning of their own, and all Will saw was a fleeting glimpse of the roiling harbor now rising again, impossibly fast, swamping the docks and showing no signs of slowing.

"RUN!" Norrington roared at him. "JUST RUN!"

Whether it was the ground that was sinking or the sea that was rising, many citizens of Port Royal would ponder for long after. Those who witnessed and lived through it would never be entirely sure. But all who beheld the nightmarish sight of water surging up over the shore, the markets, and into the streets of the town could think of only one possible hope—to move upward.

Only slightly higher on the island than Will and Norrington, Elizabeth, Mary, and Lucy also spotted the rising harbor and fled upward as well, joining a terrified throng of panicked people who feared that the entire city was going to be swallowed up by the Caribbean.

Elizabeth glanced back once only to realize that the street which seemed to be sliding whole into the sea at this very moment was the one where Will's smithy was located, and she nearly stopped in her tracks. "WILL! Dear God, no, please, _WILL!_"

"Come on, Miss!" Mary cried, and she and Lucy all but dragged Elizabeth on, aware even in their panic that there would be no chance of survival for anyone who tried to turn back.

Below them, Will and Norrington were in still greater peril, for the ground was turning soft again beneath their feet as they ran. The sea swallowed up the merchants' exchange, the customs house, and the meat market. The Admiralty Court and several of the smaller forts vanished along with, as Will was painfully and fearfully aware, the house he and Elizabeth had intended to make their home.

But the ground seemed to be sliding down to meet the rising Caribbean, and it was death to anyone who so much as paused. Geysers of sea water burst forth from the streets again, flinging people left and right, but few even dared to help others who fell. Houses and shops already weakened by the earth's shaking came crashing down, and their rubble was swept into the sea along with other buildings still standing.

Terror like he had never known even when fighting aboard the _Black Pearl_ took Will as he and Norrington ran faster and faster, sensing the pursuit of the watery leviathan that gained on them. A dreadful smell of shattered masonry, salt, dust, seawater, and sweat pervaded the air, making it hard for the fleeing mob to draw breath for running. The screams behind them rose in pitch, some reaching a tone of utter frenzy only to be abruptly cut off, a grisly indication of those who failed to outrun the rising water. And with each frantic glance over their shoulders, Will and Norrington could not fail to see that many souls were unable to escape, swept under by a roaring, hell-borne, bloodthirsty tide.

They kept running, the general direction of the crowd being the only real suggestion of which was the way to safety. Cries of relief and exultation finally heralded the end of the water's advance, and people slowed to a halt, exhausted and stunned as they took in the sight behind them.

More than half of Port Royal had vanished. The water that had swept so much of the town under did not retreat, but remained there like a predator now resting upon its kill, with rooftops, bell towers, and the masts of ships emerging here and there from the waves—like the wrecks in the passage of Isla de la Muerta. The water was littered with debris, parts of houses and boats, whole uprooted trees…and human bodies, like so many chunks of driftwood floating about the harbor.

A great, collective moan of awe and despair went up from the survivors who now massed, stunned and confused, amid the shattered buildings and wreckage-strewn streets that now constituted the surviving part of the richest city in the Caribbean. The dead floating in the harbor all but covered the water. Will and Norrington knew that the raging Caribbean must have claimed at least two thousand souls on this day. There remained, amid the stench of the wreckage, also a tang of blood, warning that not all the lives ended here today were those that had been lost to the water.

As with everyone else in Port Royal at that moment, Will and Norrington began to wander aimlessly through the streets sharing the same thought as their fellows: they had survived a stroke of the very hand of hell. Now what?

_**To be continued…**_

**_Coming Soon:_** _The crew of the Black Pearl discovers that catastrophe has befallen Port Royal, Commodore Norrington struggles to piece back together his stricken city, and Will seeks word of the fates of Elizabeth, Lucy, and their loved ones in Chapter Eleven: Fortune!_

**Please don't forget to review! Have a safe and happy New Year!**


	12. Chapter Eleven: Fortune

_**A/N: **At long last, ladies and gentlemen, I bring you the last full-length chapter of this, my fanfiction sequel to _Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_, and as a special bonus, the epilogue as well! _

_**Canon Note: **For those who are curious about the real history of Port Royal, the events involving Sir William Beeston, the Governor of Jamaica who replaces Swann are mostly true. Sir William Beeston was Governor of Jamaica at the time of the earthquake, and Spanish Town, Jamaica, became the main government location after Port Royal's destruction. Reverend Heath is also a real person—he wrote the account of the earthquake which I used in writing Chapter Ten, although as you can probably guess, the writing of his that is in the epilogue is my own invention. _

**Chapter Eleven: Fortune**

"Ahoy, Cap'n!" Anamaria bellowed from the crow's nest. "Swells a windward!"

Jack wasn't all that concerned; the wind was fair for the Antilles, but no storms were making. Bootstrap, his new first mate, peered behind them with the spy glass. "Odd, those."

"Eh?"

"Not wind-made." Bootstrap handed him the glass.

Jack frowned. Bill was right: the waves were low, too far apart to be wind-swept swells, and strangely even along the water. It reminded him of something. They were also quite large; not high enough to be any threat to the _Pearl_ or other ships at sea, but big, like low, rolling hills on the water.

Gibbs came down the deck to remark on the extraordinary sight as well. "Whadda ya make of 'em?"

"No worries for us," said Bill. "Big, though. Can't think where they've come from."

"Westerly," said Jack.

"Might be worrisome in-harbor along the coast, waves o' that size," Gibbs observed. Bill shot Jack a worried look, but Gibbs added, "Not to fret, man; they're movin' away from Port Royal."

Jack dropped the spyglass. "Away? Or _from _it?"

"Bloody hell," Bill muttered.

"ALL HANDS ON DECK!" Jack roared. "We're coming about!" He seized the wheel and spun it, turning them fully about towards the rolling water, and the land it was coming from.

* * *

James scrubbed at his dirty face, trying to pull his scattered wits together, but his mind and his heart were being pulled in every direction at once. He should go at once to the fort; by some miracle, it appeared to still be standing, although from where he was he could see that some of the walls and battlements had fallen. He should give orders to organize the able-bodied men to help rescue those trapped, find shelters for the wounded. He should find Governor Beeston and determine what their next course of action should be. He should call out the remaining soldiers to keep order in the town—what was left of it. He should find his wife.

The sight of some of the more unsavory denizens of Port Royal returning to the wrecked lower streets with avarice in their eyes made up his mind. "I must…get to the fort at once," he muttered. "I'll send all the men we still have to keep order."

Will nodded, gazing numbly at the destruction. "What can I do?"

James forced himself to be calm; he had to set an example at this moment. He met Will's eyes and said, "Find Elizabeth. Find my wife. Get them to shelter and send word to me at the fort."

The thought of Elizabeth, lost and possibly hurt amid the devastation snapped Will's mind back to full alertness. He steadfastly refused to consider any other possibility. She was here somewhere; he had only to find her. "I will."

"Godspeed, Turner," said James, then he hurried away.

Given at last a purpose amid the chaos, Will began searching the crowd and adding his voice to the cries of thousands now searching for those they loved. "Elizabeth! ELIZABETH!"

* * *

Among a countless throng of stunned, weeping women and children came Elizabeth, Lucy, and Mary to St. Paul's. The bell tower was a pile of rubble, and a great chunk of roof had been torn away with it, but the remainder of the church still stood, and already the church folk were rallying to assist the dazed survivors.

"Miss Elizabeth! Mrs. Norrington!" The women turned in surprise to see Reverend Heath weaving his way through the crowd toward them. Lucy and Mary both began crying again with relief at the sight of him, and the Reverend put his arms around them and led them into the church. "Thank the Lord. I'd begun to fear that neither of you had been spared. Are you hurt?"

"Nothing serious," Lucy said, dashing a hand across her face, though her arms were scratched and bleeding from the collapse of the fence, and all three of them were cut and bruised. "Have you any news of my husband?"

Heath shook his head. "Very little news has reached me yet, but there is such chaos here with the wounded and displaced that I've had no time to make inquiries. I am still organizing care for the wounded and infirm."

"Beggin' your pardon, but I can help," Mary offered at once, glancing at Elizabeth for permission. She readily gave it, and Reverend Heath dispatched Mary to assist the nuns in treating injuries.

"Of course, we'll do what we can as well," Elizabeth added, and Lucy nodded confirmation.

Reverend Heath ushered them away, and the two women came to an unspoken agreement that the needs of the many hundreds of wounded should be seen to now, regardless of their fears for their own families. Lucy left the church once to assist at another house that had been commandeered for the wounded, and returned to report that her own home had collapsed, but Weatherby Swann's appeared to still be standing, although she had not seen Elizabeth's father himself.

Elizabeth found herself working in a situation strangely reminiscent of her days as a Tortuga barmaid—and in its own way, just as harrowing. She knew nothing of nursing, so the nuns and clerics often had her running back and forth for supplies of bandages and medicines and bed linens, and there was always more need than there were hands to satisfy it. Her mind spent much time racing with more worries than she could ever have imagined having at once: the still-unknown whereabouts of her father and Will, of Lucy's husband, of their other friends and acquaintances, the suffering of the hundreds, perhaps thousands of poor souls lying at her feet always in need of water, food, changed bandages, and beds.

There was a even a powerful scent of alcohol in the church buildings where she worked, although this was all alcohol that had been commandeered to ease the pain of the wounded and to treat their injuries.

She had seen men die before, during her time on the _Black Pearl_, but the deaths she witnessed in the quake and afterward instilled a horror she had never known or even imagined. Reverend Heath was constantly making rounds giving final blessings to the dying before they succumbed to horrific, endlessly-bleeding wounds, shattered bones, and infections and sicknesses that came upon them swiftly in their weakened state. After the first few, Elizabeth and Lucy both became too numb to shed any more tears, and went about their merciful duties in a state of perpetual shock, painfully, agonizingly aware of the misery surrounding them, but their emotional reactions had become strangely muted, almost blessedly so, for the sake of their sanity.

The injured and homeless in the quake's aftermath were so numerous that it was not surprising that even with the town reduced to less than half its previous size, the able-bodied who rushed about aiding their fellows had little time or thought to spare for each other. Not to say that Will's possible fate was ever far from the forefront of her mind.

* * *

Two days after the earthquake, Weatherby Swann found his way to the church and was led to Elizabeth. "Thank God, my darling," he whispered, as Elizabeth fell into his arms, choking on sobs. "Are you hurt?" She shook her head. "Commodore Norrington is frantic. I promised I would send him word."

"He's all right?" Elizabeth gasped as Lucy came running down the ward.

"Yes, my dear, he's safe. So many men from the fort have been wounded or killed; it is all he can do to keep order and send what ships are left for aid."

Norrington's wife looked gravely at them. "I must go to him."

"That may not be wise; the streets are not at all safe," Weatherby cautioned. "Let me send him a message that you are here."

But Lucy shook her head. "My place is with my husband, and there are wounded at the fort as well."

Sensing her determination, Weatherby yielded. "Then come with me. You cannot go unescorted."

"Father!" Elizabeth seized his arm. There was a terrible lump of dread in her throat. "Have you heard nothing of Will?"

At his dismayed look, she held her breath. "I'm sorry. I haven't. It's possible…always possible, I suppose."

"Of course, it is!" Lucy exclaimed, seizing Elizabeth's hands. "Do not give up hope, Lizzie. Many people are still searching the streets, or Will could be with James at the fort. I'll find out all I can of him."

Unable to speak, Elizabeth just nodded. Of course, Lucy could speak of hope, having heard that her husband was alive and safe at the fort. Elizabeth supposed she herself would act no differently in that position. _If only I were, _a callous part of her whispered enviously. Fortunately, Lucy understood, even if Weatherby did not, and kissed Elizabeth on the cheek before accepting the former governor's arm as they left the churchyard.

Returning to rolling bandages, Elizabeth could no longer push down her emotions. The wrappings shook in her hands until she dropped them back onto the pile, wrapped her arms around her knees and wept.

_What will become of us all? What am I going to do? _

_What if Will never comes back? _

_How will we live if all the food and water is gone?_

_Where will we live now?_

She had heard Reverend Heath talking worriedly with some of the others about the state of the wells and the fresh water; so much had been contaminated with filth in the quake and the waves. And most of the buildings that had housed the town's supplies of food and drink had been destroyed. Ironically, because there were no suitable supplies or ovens to bake bread, the food being rationed out to many of the able-bodied was hard-tack biscuit, like they often ate on ships.

It reminded her of the _Black Pearl,_ and Elizabeth found that familiarity comforting. She thought of asking Commodore Norrington and her father to try to send word to Jack and the _Pearl_, but decided against it; what could they do? And as it was, there were only a few ships left seaworthy in the harbor, and they'd all been sent out to neighboring ports for help.

Eventually, her anguish wore down again, and she got back to work.

"Streets are _full _of battered bodies, man, to say nothing of the harbor! We may never find the majority of them. Whole families gone, everybody crushed and drowned for whole blocks of town!"

"I tell you, I'm going to find her."

"She may be dead, my boy."

"I don't know that for certain until I find her." The voice might not be so distinctive as Jack's in a crowded room, but it made Elizabeth's heart clench as nothing else could. Hope burst back to life in her chest, trying to pound its way out, but her throat tightened so that she couldn't speak a word. She wanted to call out, she had to get up and see for herself if her ears had not deceived her.

But she felt as though she were immersed in mud—cold mud. Her entire body shook as she turned, sluggish and clumsy, and pulled herself to her feet, searching…

…through the strangely-blurry faces, dirty skin, haunted, seeking eyes…

…until they met a pair of dark brown eyes that burned with a hope as fierce as that which seared her from the inside, and she couldn't look away.

Her throat was so tight that her voice was a squeak. "_Will?_"

If she felt paralyzed, he certainly didn't. She stood there, half-wondering if she was dreaming, watching Will Turner shoving through the crowd of dazed earthquake survivors as frantically as he had once swept across a fort green to save a friend from the gallows. No one shrieked or tried to stop him this time, but some people smiled as he flung his arms around Elizabeth and began kissing her frantically, all over her face.

Elizabeth was vaguely aware of him speaking, but the words made little sense to her—and probably little sense to him either. She herself could not speak. She simply clung to him.

More than half of Port Royal was under water, and most of what remained on land had collapsed. Nearly two-thirds of the people were dead or missing, hundreds more were hurt, here in the church, at the fort, and in the few houses left standing. There was little food, less water, and things would only get worse as the height of summer came upon them…

…and for those few moments, it was infinitely far away. She pulled back from his arms far enough to see his face, streaked with dirt, sweat, and dried blood, vaguely aware that she herself probably looked no better, but all that mattered now was that she could see a future again. _Their _future.

_We'll be all right now._

"We'll be all right," he whispered to her, interpreting her silence as stifled grief and anxious to console her.

And then he blinked in confusion when Elizabeth started to laugh. "Of course," she gasped, dashing her fist across her face. "Of course, we will!"

* * *

The first ships from neighboring colonies arrived a few days later. Those days were no less harrowing, full of blood, sweat, exhaustion, and death among the wounded in the church, than the first two had been after the earthquake, but for Elizabeth and Will, the sun had come back, and the future had reappeared.

They weren't the only ones. Those who had been fortunate enough to escape with their lives saw little point in dwelling on lost possessions—so many were being buried every day.

However, there was still the question of the fate of Port Royal itself.

"I'll never be easy in this town again, Miss," Mary told Elizabeth when a ship arrived in the harbor bound for England. "I'm not glad of leavin' you or the Master, of course, but if you'll allow, I'd rather go find a new position in England."

"Of course, I won't try to stop you!" Elizabeth said. "Not after all this. I'll write you a letter of reference before the ship leaves."

"You're not thinking of remaining here, surely, my dear," Weatherby Swann exclaimed, coming to join them. "The town is in ruins!"

Elizabeth looked at Will and said, "We haven't made up our minds yet."

"Why not return to England with me? We've received word that a galleon is being dispatched to return the nobility to Europe," her father offered. To Mary, he added, "For myself, I would be happy to keep you on in our house in London in any case."

"Thank you kindly, sir!" Mary exclaimed.

Will admitted, "I don't think Port Royal will ever recover from this. Most of the people staying in Jamaica are moving across the harbor. Governor Beeston is moving his offices to Spanish Town."

Weatherby said, "If you don't wish to leave the Caribbean, at least consider one of the other colonies, Barbados or St. Kitts. Jamaica is no place to build a life now."

Elizabeth and Will exchanged a glance. Neither of them had any desire to leave the Caribbean, but truth be told, the thought of even leaving Jamaica gave her a pang. And yet, her father had a point—Will would need to work. There would not be many people left in Port Royal, and what were the chances that he could support them in tiny Spanish Town or the tents of Colonel Barry's _Hog Crawle_ across the harbor?

Her father saw her sudden anxiety, but said nothing. He seemed content at last to let her discuss the matter with her fiancé, and true to form, Will joined her after a shift tending the wounded in the church. "Do you want to leave?"

"For England? No," she replied honestly. "I was very young, but my memories of it aren't especially fond—and what I've heard of London society since is not terribly appealing."

"My mother and I lived in Southampton," Will remarked.

She watched him closely. "Would you like to go back?"

He frowned, considering. "I hadn't really thought of it until now. I could certainly find work there as a blacksmith…"

"But?"

"Would I ever see my father again?"

"I think the _Black Pearl _could get just about anywhere Jack and the crew wanted," she said dryly. But more seriously, she added, "But not to England as easily to anywhere in the Caribbean."

"On the other hand, if we stay in the Caribbean, you would be separated from your father," he pointed out, fairness itself.

She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. "I think it would still be easier for me to write to my father than you to yours, no matter where we are. Safer for him than for yours as well."

"That certainly is true."

* * *

_A week later…_

Will was helping Commodore Norrington at the fort when the cry went up. "Sail ho! Black sails, sir! Pirates!"

While half the men in the fort went running for the guns, Will and James exchanged glances, then grinned. "Identify the vessel, if you please," Norrington called.

"The _Black Pearl_, Commodore!" The rather green lieutenant who had arrived with the first rescue ship from England wasn't familiar with much of Port Royal's history, but some of Norrington's other men were.

"Stand down from weapons, and leave the distress flag flying," the Commodore ordered. "And send up flares for good measure."

The replacement troops looked frazzled, but they obeyed, and a moment later, the _Pearl _raised a white flag. "They're dropping anchor," said one of the sentries.

"I'm somewhat preoccupied here, Turner, if you would be so kind as to greet Captain Sparrow and his crew."

"Gladly, Commodore," said Will cheerfully, and started off the port wall.

"Sir? They're lowering a boat!"

"Since we no longer have a dock and swimming to shore would be inconvenient, I cannot say I'm surprised. Carry on, gentlemen. Carry on, Turner." Will stifled a laugh and went to the debris-littered beach.

To his surprise, when he arrived, no less than three boats had been lowered from the _Pearl_, and bales, barrels, and boxes were visible behind the crew who were rowing. (And behind Jack Sparrow, who was standing in his typical effort to be imposing at the nose of the first boat.) Will couldn't help but grin stupidly when the boats reached shore.

"Can't leave you alone for a week, lad!" Jack exclaimed, strutting off the boat onto the wet sand. He gazed at the decimated town and ruined harbor and wrinkled his nose. "Blimey, made a right mess of the place, haven't you?"

"Gillette stole the white sword," Will told him as Bootstrap joined them.

"Bloody fool. We thought someone must have had sticky fingers back there. Well! Far be it for Captain Jack Sparrow to miss a chance to be magnaminimous at times like this! Our bloody friend Norrington make it through?"

"Yes, he's up at the fort."

Jack gestured to the supplies his crew was unloading. "For him—well, for you, actually, but knowing the old Commodore, he'll want to take charge."

"How's your Elizabeth?" Bootstrap asked with concern. Gibbs and some of the others paused and looked up.

"She's safe," Will said without disguising his relief.

"Thank the Lord for that. Harbor's full of bodies," his father said.

Will nodded grimly. "I know." He sighed, but smiled then. "I'm glad to see you again."

Bootstrap put a hand on his shoulder. "And you."

Jack sniffled loudly. "So touching!"

"Jack!"

Elizabeth came running down to the water with Norrington, his wife, and the former governor lagging slightly behind. Will saw Weatherby cringe when Elizabeth threw her arms around the pirate captain's neck, but he just grinned. Mrs. Norrington was taking in the legendary ship and its all-too-scurvy-looking crew with whom her friend was currently fraternizing with undisguised awe.

"Aye, now _that's _reason enough to pay the old town a visit, eh?" Jack leered. Bootstrap rolled his eyes, and Anamaria snorted as Jack kissed Elizabeth smackingly on the cheek. "So you made it out in one piece, love? Doesn't surprise me one bit! 'Ello, 'Ello, there, Commodore! Captain Sparrow and the _Black Pearl _to the rescue, as you see!"

"Far be it for Port Royal to be ungrateful to anyone at this point," said Norrington, with more ease than Will had ever seen from him toward Jack. Then again, the Commodore had scarcely slept since the earthquake, and was so distracted by the concerns of protecting and feeding the survivors of the quake that it wasn't surprising he'd take help from all comers. He even signaled a squad of soldiers from the fort to take charge of the supplies the _Pearl's _crew had brought.

As for Jack, after making a perfunctory greeting to Elizabeth's father, his gaze fell upon the well-dressed-if-obviously-exhausted young woman behind Norrington. "'Ello, 'ello, I'm beholdin' the Mrs. Commodore if I'm not much mistaken?"

Lucy blinked, Elizabeth stifled a laugh, and the crew looked on curiously as Norrington handed his wife forward. "Quite. My dear, this is Captain Jack Sparrow. My wife, Lucinda Norrington."

"Milady," said Jack, sweeping off his hat with a most-effusive bow. "'tis an honor indeed!"

Lucy was too dazzled to even answer him, and Norrington and Weatherby Swann hastened to distract Jack with offers of reward for more assistance, but Will heard her whisper to Elizabeth, "They're really pirates? Real pirates!"

"No better example of them too, in my opinion," Elizabeth whispered back.

"Don't know what much good we can do on land here, son," Bootstrap told Will quietly, moving aside with him. "It's bad business. We're glad to find you safe."

"I thought the Aztec curse and the dead ships were the greatest horror I'd ever seen until now," Will admitted, closing his eyes.

His father put a hand on his shoulder. "There's people shipping out already, we've heard. What're you going to do?"

"We haven't decided. Elizabeth's father is going back to England with most of the wealthy families, but she and I…"

"Bound to the Caribbean, if I don't know one when I see one," Bill said slyly. Will had to smile. "Why not ship out with the _Pearl?_"

"As pirates, you mean?"

"Aye, lad, we've no plans to go legitimate, other than for the sake of friends. Your Elizabeth can hold her own aboard ship, even Anamaria can't deny that. Pirate's in your blood, you know. I'd be glad of you," Bill told him.

Will looked past him at the _Pearl, _its baggy sails hanging empty, almost beckoning…the thought had its appeal, he had to admit. Jack had once said the same thing about his blood. "I'll have to think about it."

* * *

"I think it would be exciting to be a pirate," Lucy told Elizabeth later that night at the fort, watching the _Black Pearl's _crew at work on the deck. She'd been transfixed by the ship all day.

"Haven't you had enough excitement already?" Elizabeth demanded.

Lucy grimaced, conceding the point. "Perhaps if we've no real choice about hardship in our lives, we'd do better to seek out excitement of our own rather than letting it come to us."

"That's an interesting way to put it," said James as a steward brought them dinner, although from his expression, Elizabeth suspected he'd be glad when the _Pearl _got out of the harbor and stopped fascinating his wife.

Will had told her about Bootstrap and Jack's offer to leave with the _Black Pearl_, but had not ventured a final opinion over whether he desired such a life. Elizabeth found the idea appealing, for much the same reasons Lucy did, but she didn't want to unduly influence Will on it. She would go anywhere, so long as it was with him. If there was one thing the wretched days since the earthquake had taught her, it was what mattered most.

"Sir William tells me there will be a house ready for you in Spanish Town by the end of the year," Norrington was telling Lucy. "I shall be quartered here in the fort from day to day, but I will visit you whenever I can."

Lucy stared at him. "You mean I'll have to live alone?"

Will and Elizabeth exchanged glances, wondering if they should leave, but Weatherby Swann put in, "The Commodore is needed here to oversee Port Royal and the harbor security, my dear. And I fear there are few accommodations left in Port Royal suitable for you."

"And where are these 'few?'" Lucy asked, with a sharpness in her voice that startled Elizabeth.

"Growing less by the day," James told her. "And not at all safe, with the ranks of the guard so diminished. We can barely keep order in the town during the day. The houses are looted every night." His wife looked away, frowning. "I know this is difficult, but we must accept that circumstances have changed. I will see you at least once each week."

Elizabeth winced in sympathy and looked at Will. He dropped his eyes. The two of the were lucky in more ways than one. _I will let nothing separate us again. Ever._

"Other men at the fort have their wives here with them."

Weatherby actually laughed, which made Elizabeth want to scold him and obviously offended Lucy. "My dear Mrs. Norrington, you are the wife of the Commodore, not of some sergeant or midshipman. There's no society left in Port Royal. It would hardly be proper for you to be quartered here; the barracks living arrangements are quite too mean."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, thinking of the devastation and people living in the wrecks of their homes just outside, and from the way Lucy gazed out the window, it was clear that she was thinking the same thing. "You're right that circumstances have changed, James—but my definition of 'mean' has done as well. I would choose the barracks of the fort WITH my husband than the finest society house in Spanish Town without him."

Elizabeth had to quash a smile, but then was a bit bemused to notice Will regarding Lucy Norrington with an expression that could only be called admiring, and for the first time, she felt a twinge of jealousy. Well. She supposed it was her turn, after all. Then he looked at her and motioned to the door with his head (rather like Jack sometimes did, she thought, stifling a giggle) and they excused themselves.

"What are you thinking?" she demanded as soon as they were out of earshot, on the fort wall looking down at the _Black Pearl._

His dark hair moving lightly in the wind, Will regarded the ship with a faint look of longing, then shook his head. "I don't think I could do it, Elizabeth." He smiled sadly. "Be a pirate."

"No?" she asked, carefully neutral.

Will sighed. "Jack and my father—they say the pirate's in my blood, but…I'm not like them. Not really, no matter how much I…wish I was, sometimes. I couldn't enjoy it as they do." He smiled ruefully. "I'm too set as a law-abiding citizen."

"You became a pirate once," she reminded him.

Will looked at her unguardedly. "That was for you."

It wasn't as if she hadn't known before now that Will truly loved her, and rejoiced in that knowledge, but it suddenly seemed to reach her, like a splash of warm spray from the sea, just how long and how deeply he had loved her. How far he had been willing to go, against pirates, against the law, even against himself.

She touched his face. "I'd never see you sacrifice yourself," she whispered. "Nor your principles, Will."

"Some parts of it—the adventure, the sailing, even the…plundering," Will blushed. "I did enjoy it. But there are harms that come from piracy, that I'd never be easy with, even with Jack and my father." He sighed, then looked quickly at her. His dark eyes were anxious. "I was afraid you'd be disappointed. I know you like the _Pearl._"

"Only when you've been there," she said. And she grinned, "And as Lucy remarks, it's not as if excitement doesn't have a way of finding us onshore or off!" Will laughed sheepishly, and she kissed him, mindless of the stares of the sentries. "I told my father before, I don't care if you're a pirate or a blacksmith. I'll gladly marry either." She pulled back and added dryly, "Soon, I hope!"

"And I," Will sighed dramatically. "There's always something, it seems. I'd suggest we go to Reverend Heath tomorrow, but it seems cruel to…" he broke off, but she nodded. It would be the height of rudeness to ask the Reverend to perform a wedding while so many people still needed to be buried. "All the same…I find I also don't want to leave Jamaica."

"We could stay in Port Royal, as I suspect Lucy's planning to do," Elizabeth pointed out. "And take our chances."

Will looked at her thoughtfully. "Or I've been told Mrs. Tapling is going across the harbor to the new town they're going to build, hoping it will be safer than Port Royal."

"Is that the camp Colonel Barry and his men have built?"

"Yes, but they hope to make it more permanent."

Elizabeth leaned against the wall, enjoying the wind off the Caribbean as if it were gifting them with a peaceful night after so much trouble. "A new town. They'll need a blacksmith. Someone to help with the building."

Will nodded. "And there will be land. New farms and plantations to begin from the beginning." He put a hand boldly on her arm, sending gooseflesh down her skin with one touch.

"That does seem the sort of place to make our own new beginning, doesn't it?" she murmured.

"It isn't much at the moment," her fiancé warned.

She closed her eyes and smiled. "There isn't much that we really need." Then she sighed. "There's still the problem of when or if Reverend Heath will be free to marry us. Father's ship for England will be here in a month—he won't like to go and leave me unwed."

Will pulled a face. "Every churchman in the Caribbean is occupied, I think. It could be a year before a qualified man is able to perform a wedding ceremony." He looked out at the harbor in frustration, then froze.

Elizabeth followed his gaze to the _Black Pearl, _its sails and deck lit by lanterns.

Then they both began to laugh.

As Jack would say, it was a funny old world.

_**To be continued…**_

_**Next Chapter: **Only the epilogue remains! A wedding takes place on the beach, Captain Jack Sparrow and Commodore Norrington get philosophical over celebratory rum, and Dr. Alexander Cade returns in modern times to give us Reverend Heath's report on the final fates of our heroes in Epilogue: That Rarest of Treasures!_

**Please don't forget to review!**


	13. Epilogue: That Rarest Of Treasures

**_A/N:_** _This is it, dear readers, this is the end. I hope you've enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it, and thank you all so very much for your extraordinary patience during the long delays. This story spanned my entire three years of law school, incredible as it seems. But law school does have a way of slowing one's hobbies down. I'm just glad I got it finished before the next movie came out! Thank you for reading and reviewing, and please do be so kind as to review one last time to give me your final thoughts on this tale!_

**_Canon/History Note:_** _The bit of history included about Kingston is true—the city was founded by refugees after the destruction of Port Royal, and would eventually become the capital of Jamaica. It seemed like just the place for Will and Elizabeth to start their new life._

**Epilogue: That Rarest of Treasures**

_Kingston Harbor, Jamaica, June 29, 1692…_

"Oh _dearly _beloved! We are gathered here in the sight of God, in the face of all these well-dressed fancy ladies and gentlemen, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable state, although by no means fer everyone!"

There was a fine, fair wind off the Caribbean, but it blow inshore, as if to acknowledge the wedding of a pirate's son to a life on land.

Kingston Harbor had been cleared of debris, and although many of the dead were still being buried, and the wounded still nursed, the water was clear again, and sparkled in the late June sun. One ship was anchored precisely in the center of the harbor while its crew was ashore: the _Black Pearl_, its sails furled away, its deck polished and gleaming, stood like a sentry behind the small gathering upon the beach.

The _Pearl's _captain, in the proper tradition of captains of sailing ships—even pirates—was also on the beach, uniting his first mate's son and the former governor of Jamaica's daughter in marriage.

"Y'see, friends, for those of us poor, sorry sots who do manage to get ourselves snagged by a lass need to remember a few things—being faithful and all that!" Captain Jack Sparrow addressed the wedding guests. "It's important, bein' faithful!"

The bride, in a simple white dress with white flowers in her hair, was desperately biting her lip to keep from bursting into highly-inappropriate giggles. Well, not that her manner of wedding was terribly appropriate to begin with, judging by the frequent winces of her father, but she supposed for his sake that she should observe some decorum. Her matron of honor, Mrs. Norrington, wife of the Commodore, was also managing some semblance of discretion, although she was laughing silently behind her hand, making it look like her light blue dress was simply fluttering in the breeze.

On Will's other side, Bootstrap Bill Turner winked at her, which nearly set her giggling again, and even Commodore Norrington seemed entertained.

"Because, my friends, love's a beautiful thing! Beautiful, love! We must all cherish it, even them of us what prefer a different sort of love than that which lends itself to marriage, eh?" Jack leered, and Weatherby Swann winced. Again. Anamaria snorted. "You'll see a lad sail to the ends of the earth for love of his bonny lass! Aye, and he'll battle the law and the very demons of hell for her sake! For love's a treasure, friends! Not all treasure's silver and gold, as I meself likes to say! And it's worth more to them that's willing to fight for it!"

Will looked sideways at Elizabeth and smiled.

"Oh, right, now's the important part. Ahem! Do you, Elizabeth, take Will here to be your lawful, wedded husband? To—uh, lemme see—love and cherish, that's right, have and hold, yeaahh," Jack began counting them off on the tips of his fingers, "for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, for better or worse—not that we don't all hope for more good stuff than bad, love, but this is the sermon—and keep yourself only for him as long as you both live?"

Grinning broadly now, Elizabeth replied, "I do."

Jack winked at her. "Glad to see you finally got over me, darling! Right! Now, do you, Will, take this bonny lass to be your lawful wedded wife? To love and cherish, to have and hold, for sickness or poorer, in better or worse health, and keep yourself only for her as long as you both shall live?"

Shaking with the effort of containing his laughter, Will said, "I do."

"Aw, such an emotional lad! By the authority vested in me by the Code of the Brethren set down by the Pirates Morgan and Bartholomew, I now pronounce you—OY! Bloody hell, I almost forgot!" Jack exclaimed, slapping his forehead. Everybody jumped. "The ring!"

Bill quickly handed his son one ring, which Will slipped rather hurriedly onto Elizabeth's finger. She didn't dare meet his eyes as she did the same with her own ring for him, for she knew that she would start laughing if she looked at him. Still, the gleam of the simple gold band on her finger, matching the one on Will's, and the cool, metal weight of it, was a lovely thing in itself, filling her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the Caribbean sun.

"There we are, now that's better," Jack said. "Let's see, said the vows, did the ring, he does, she does—right. By the authority vested in me by the Code of the Brethren set down by the pirates Morgan and Bartholomew, as Captain of the good ship _Black Pearl, _I now pronounce you, Will and Elizabeth, man and wife!"

Despite the rather unorthodox officiant, the wedding guests sighed, and Lucy sniffled.

"Now kiss her, you fool!"

Will was happy to obey. And to Elizabeth's pleased surprise, it was her father who enthusiastically led the applause as they broke apart.

"Right-o, then, ladies and gents! Meet the new Mr. and Mrs. Turner!" Jack bellowed as the two of them faced their party on the beach. "Drinks! Drinks all around!"

As Lucy threw her arms around Elizabeth's neck with a squeal, and Bootstrap embraced Will, Commodore Norrington slipped into the wedding party and emerged with two glasses. "Captain Sparrow! Join me in a toast of the bride and groom?"

"Oy, what's this, Commodore?" Jack sniffed the contents of his glass. "Contraband rum, at a wedding attended by your most official self?"

"Worse than that," Norrington said gravely. "Obtained by my most official self!"

Jack saluted him with his glass. "Got yourself friends among the rum runners now, eh?"

"Hardly," James replied, with a glance at the wedding party as he sipped his drink. "Confiscated it."

That got a roar of laughter from Jack. "To you, me good Commodore, as I never had the chance to congratulate you on your own nuptials! Too bad I wasn't around to perform 'em, eh?"

The look on Norrington's face set him laughing again. "I think my tastes differ slightly from Miss Swann—beg pardon, Mrs. Turner's."

"The tastes of that pair differ from a lot of us, mate," said Jack. He nodded to Lucy, who was sampling her own glass of rum with Will and Elizabeth. "So your missus is staying on in Port Royal, then?"

James took a somewhat larger gulp of rum and looked somewhat displeased. "I wish I could give her a better life in what's left of this city."

"There now, man," Jack said, slapping his back. "If she ain't worried, why should you be? Look at those two!" He pointed at the Turners. "Nothing on this shore but tents and debris, but it's enough for them. And we pirates're dying out with the wicked cities, thanks to your navy's efforts." James actually blushed, but Jack waved his regret off. "It's no matter. We've still got the sea, and she ain't getting any smaller."

"Is that the faithful love you spoke of, then, Captain Sparrow?" Norrington asked with a smile, refilling their drinks. "For those unsuited to marriage?"

Jack raised his glass. "Aye-aye, Commodore! That she is! See, you and I're not so different as one may think! Nor the Turners. We all of us got that rarest of all treasures!"

James acknowledged that with a toast of his own. The contraband rum, a bit stronger than the drinks he was used to, made him slightly dizzy in the bright sunlight, but it also had him thinking. "And unlike other treasures, ours can never be plundered or frittered away."

"Right you are, mate!" said Jack, stumbling over to the wedding party to throw one arm around Will and the other around Elizabeth. "And that makes us all twice lucky!"

* * *

_Port Royal Historical Museum, Jamaica, 1992_

Dr. Alexander Cade had read Reverend Heath's harrowing account of the Port Royal earthquake so many times he could recite it from memory, so instead, he went to look at a copy of some of the Reverend's other writings. One in particular caught his eye, a piece from the records of St. Paul's Church that appeared to be nothing more than the Reverend's reminiscences of the years after the town's destruction.

_The city of Kingston was founded in the hopes that its site would be better protected, both from the natural dangers that had destroyed Port Royal and the manmade troubles that plagued it. It is true that pirates were never a presence in Kingston as they had been in Port Royal, but the famous vessel with black sails continued to appear in the harbor quite often, to the point that the town's residents named the ship their protector rather than their enemy._

_For nearly a year after the quake, the refugees lived in tents, but the town began its first serious signs of growth when Mr. Turner opened a smithy in what would become the main street of the town. The smithy is the centerpiece of the growing community, and merchants and gentry were not long in following. Turner's wife herself was a member of the nobility, or had been until her marriage, but neither the meanness of their circumstances after the quake nor the pressures of her husband's livelihood discouraged her. _

_The Turners had two sons and a daughter, the first of whom joined the British Navy and reached the rank of captain, the second who took up his father's craft, inherited the smithy, and a not-insignificant estate. The daughter vanished shortly before coming of age, amid great speculation in the town, but all her parents said was that she had gone to sea. However, it is noted in the town records that young Miss Turner's disappearance from Kingston society occurred at the same time as one of the visits by the ship with black sails._

_Weatherby_ _Swann left Jamaica with most of the other nobility after the quake and did not return, but dispatch vessels from England brought frequent letters from him, to the Commodore of the fort for delivery to Swann's daughter._

_Commodore Norrington and his wife remained together at the fort until Mrs. Norrington's death. Like her friend Miss Swann, Mrs. Norrington forewent many trappings of her statement to remain beside the man she loved, and it earned her great respect among the Commodore's men at the fort. I christened their two children: their daughter Elizabeth, and their son James, who Lucinda brought into the world at the cost of her own life. Commodore Norrington left Port Royal and the Caribbean less than a year later, taking his two children back to England with him._

_The ship with black sails is believed by some to be a mere myth, but I myself fancy to have seen it on several occasions. The heyday of piracy well and truly ended with the destruction of Port Royal, and although some among my fellow churchmen felt the earthquake was our punishment for the city's wicked ways, I confess to feeling a measure of sorrow for this strange, undeniably wicked, but yet somehow-alluring way of life. The mysterious ship, called the _Black Pearl _according to the men on the docks, is said to have never been sunk or captured by any country's navy, and sailed on across the seas as an ageless reminder of an era of lawlessness, temptation, and excess._

_No honest man can deny the existence of that temptation, the specter of adventure that gleams like distant treasure. I myself heard a song sung in even the more refined streets of Kingston and Spanish Town, among the staid barracks of soldiers:_

_Yo_ _Ho, Yo Ho, a pirate's life for me!_

**The End**


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